The Magical Bat Year VI
by karanne
Summary: The continuing experiences of the early Terran Empire.


The Magical Bat VI:

#include stdDisclaimer.h: Batman, Catwoman, Alfred, Babs, Dick, Lucius Fox, and the others, are DC Comic's toys, as are John Stewart and the rest of the Lantern crew. Hogwarts, Albus, Minerva, the Weasleys and the others in the Potterverse belong to the fabulous JK Rowling. The Morton family is used with the permission of GITM. I am just playing with their toys, and they will be put back later. Everyone else, they are mine. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Copyright 2013 Kara Anne Kalel: karanne AT gmail DOT com. All rights reserved. No money is made, and no infringement is implied or intended.

This is a sequel to my stories:

The Bat & the Cat, redux, The Magical Bat I, Magical Bat: Road Trip (1.5), Magical Bat II, Magical Bat: Training Trip (2.5), Magical Bat III, Magical Bat: Business Trip (3.5), Magical Bat IV, Magical Bat: Bad Trip (4.5), Magical Bat V, and Magical Bat: Imperial Trip (5.5).

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For disclaimers, please see above.  
Chapter I: 1 September ~ 31 October 2003  
Sunday, September 1, 2003: 10:34 (UTC)  
Terra, London, Charing Cross station, platform 93/4:  
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With a flare of green fire, Mrs. Cole and the rescued girls from the Stockwell School (orphanage) scrambled out of the floo. One of the girls, eleven-year-old (approximately) Erika turned and yelled "Padfoot!" and ran over to the huge black dog, followed by several of her sisters. He thumped his tail, rolling and playing with the girls, while a number of parents watched, smiling fondly.

"Brings back memories, it does," a rather gruff voice said quietly, and there was a soft, feminine snort. "The Dragon's Temple in Beijing, Mr. Moody. I remember it well."

"And you received a good education, Major Chai?"

"I did, and it is no longer Major Chai of the Ministry of State Security. Simply Officer Chai of the Imperial Guard."

He turned and looked at the young woman in the form-fitting white uniform. "Why not work for the new Chinese Federation?"

"The Guard offered me a position before the Federation did, and my cover was thoroughly blown in the December operation. I still had bills to pay, and this offered me the chance to travel off-planet." She glanced at the gruff Brit, "Something many, many people wish to do. I have stood on the Moon and seen with my own eyes the Tranquility site, I can now claim the status of astronaut. However, it no longer has the same cachet that Armstrong gave it."

Moody grunted, and Chai looked at the group of girls that had spread out. "A good thing that Ms. Wayne is doing with those girls," she said softly. Moody grunted again, "We'll see what happens when they're Sorted."

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Monday, September 1, 2003: 12:00:00 (UTC)  
Hour 480.00/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, HIM Offices:  
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The Empress stepped into view. "Good day. Before we get to today's drawing, in compliance with the Imperial Assembly's amendment of the conscription bill, we will not be drawing fifteen and sixteen year olds. Those balls have therefore been removed, and two others added," and she touched the two balls marked '1988' and '1987' outside the machine's chamber. "The new range is now 1958 through 1986, inclusive. Let's go," and she moved the red lever. "1979! Let's get the month." She moved to the next machine: "November! And last, the day." For the third time, she moved a red lever. "The twenty-third! So the drawing is November 23, 1979! As always, you have a month to settle things at home before you visit the Imperial Army recruiting office. Thank you, and have a nice day."

"And Cut!" The producer held his hand next to his earphone, "Sounds good, ma'am. Let's wrap things up."

"Need me for that? I've got a press conference to go to."

"No, ma'am. Go enjoy yourself."

"'Enjoy yourself,' he says. Hah!" she replied, but with a grin. He grinned back and shooed her off.

* * *

"Good afternoon, everyone," she called to the assembled newsies as she entered the room. "I just did our monthly drawing, and I have a few other things to discuss before I take questions."

"Have you heard from Superman?" one of the newsies called.

"Not directly, I haven't. That's part of what I wanted to talk about." She changed the small wireless transmitter she wore on the back of her skirt's waistband with another on the podium. "Mike check. One, two, three, four." Getting a 'thumbs up' from the techs at the rear of the room, she asked, "Everyone ready? Let's go." The red lights on the cameras went on, and she smiled, "Good afternoon, and welcome back to our monthly press conferences. I've just done the monthly drawing, and November 23, 1979 was drawn." She paused, "In conjunction with that, I'd like to mention that there have been a few bobbles, but in general, the conscription process is working smoothly. The local recruiting stations are doing their jobs, Camp Katherine is doing the training, and we're starting to get the personnel we need. We are doing what's called 'One Station Training', which means that you stay at Camp Katherine for the duration of your specific training. That does mean that some people ship sooner than others; timetables and schedules are available on the camp's website."

"Moving on in that direction, you know that we will be invading and occupying the various planets of the Republic of Sodolokve." She paused at the reaction, "People, they've invaded and attacked us. Is a counter-attack really such a surprise?"

"But, ma'am, invasion? Occupation?" Lois Lane called.

"Ms. Lane, we can't simply ignore those attacks. Moreover, they are exploiting and abusing their workers, holding the vast majority as slaves, polluting the air and water, and keeping the wealth in the hands of tyrants and a few greedy plutocrats." She shook her head, "No, Ms. Lane. We plan on stability operations, including the establishment or resumption of civil security and control, restoring and extending essential services, and supporting economic development. We can best do that by transitioning those planets into productive, peaceful democracies that are members of the Empire." She surveyed the assembled newsies. "As I was going to say, we've been working on a dry run, a dress rehearsal."

"And when will this 'dress rehearsal' invasion take place, ma'am, and where?"

"Where is the habitable moon of a pirate enclave, what's known as a 'blue moon', an Earth-like habitable moon large enough and situated within the star's 'goldilocks' zone to support liquid water and thus life. As this was one place where pirates fenced their stolen goods and sold their captives to slavers, I don't think anyone will object. Too strongly, at least."

"The slavers and pirates."

"Yes, but they don't vote in our elections," she replied to a general laugh. "As I was saying, this was a pirate and slaver haven. This is where they could resupply, rest and repair any damages. By closing this off, we provide training for our own troops and put a crimp in the pirates' operations. This is also where we've been planning to put our POW colony." She held up a hand, "We've discussed this and shown our plans to the International Red Cross, and gotten their approval. We also have waivers for parts of the Geneva accords and the various extensions and amendments for them. For instance, metalworking is forbidden under the Geneva Conventions, but that's in regard to a POW camp. For a colony, though, you can't plow a field without metal." She took a sip of water from the hidden glass. "Same thing about officers working, only with the Republic, there are no enlisted rates. They use slaves for that; the lowest ranking officer we have encountered is the equivalent to a midshipman. There are no sergeants, corporals or privates. If they want to eat, they work."

"And when will this dress rehearsal take place?"

The Empress checked her watch. "Started about ten minutes ago." She waved the reporters down, ignoring their shouted questions. "There are some embedded reporters and photographers there. For now, that's all I have on that subject. There was a question about Superman. We know he arrived back in-system a few days ago and was briefed in on the probe. He has filed a claim for both the probe and custody of the passenger with the salvage court in Phobos." She took a step aside, and lifted a silvery tiara from the podium. She put it on and continued, "Speaking for the Crown, we have filed a claim for both the probe and custody of the passenger with the court." She stepped down and to the side, taking the tiara off and putting it on a table. Dragging the folding table aside with a 'skronk' sound, she smoothed her skirt and boosted herself into a seat on the table. "Speaking only for myself, as a private citizen, Ms. Martha Wayne, there are a few other points you may not be aware of." She raised her left hand, "First, there are various Kryptonian inscriptions, one of which refer to the 'House of El'" (she finger quoted). "You may know that Superman's Kryptonian name is Kal, of the House of El." She raised a second finger, "Second point, this ties in to our data that there may have been some Kryptonian colonies, which opens the possibility of his having an extended family cousins, in-laws, aunts and uncles. I doubt anyone would object to his finding some relatives. I know I wouldn't."

She shifted on the table, raising her left thumb. "Third point, what we can see of the passenger is a lower right arm, the right hip and part of the upper thigh. Both are Caucasian, smooth and with no dark hair." She gestured at her own right elbow. "The sizing leads me to think either a pre-teenage male or mid-to-late teenage girl for the passenger." She leaned back, stretching across the table and retrieving the tiara. Putting it on, but staying seated, she continued, "Therefore, the Imperial Crown wishes to make an offer to Superman, should the court rule in his favor. We offer licensing for the probe's systems and assistance in the education of the passenger. We look forward to the possibility of negotiations." She took the tiara off, asking "Questions?"

"Since when have you had a tiara?" Lois Lane called.

"Since I bought it at the toy store," she replied, tossing it to the reporter to general laughs. Lois examined it, then put it on. "I needed a visual way to differentiate my two hats today; the Crown and private citizen. Seriously, if the court rules for Superman, it's a valid offer. I'm sure his wife won't object to a bit of extra cash coming in, it looks like some very interesting tech, and the passenger will need help to acclimate."

Mr. Ullage from the Detroit Free Press called, "If the court rules for someone else?"

"Ah. Ms. Lane?" Ms. Wayne waggled her fingers, and the tiara was tossed back. "Thank you. The Crown cannot speak for any other claimant. Should the court rule in favor of the Crown, we are certainly open to negotiations with Mr. Superman regarding the greatest aid to the passenger." She left the tiara on as she swung her legs, "Next?"

"You mentioned invasion of the planets of the Republic, ma'am." Jim Peters of the Associated Press called. "What can you tell us about that?"

"Nothing specific. We have Special Forces troops on those planets for gathering intelligence and to work on destabilizing the existing planetary regimes. Next? Mr. Kent, welcome back to Luna. I hope you're feeling better."

"Much better, thank you, ma'am. What did you mean about the passenger needing to acclimate?"

"It depends on how much immersion he or she wants for our society. Even if they don't have any powers, I think they're going to want to walk about among us, and for that they'll need at a minimum language and social information. Think of oh, a Frenchman moving to Moscow. At a minimum, they'll need language data just to read the street signs, some idea of prices, clothing, manners and other social information. That's changed just in the past few years; five years ago to go from Paris to Moscow would have required several hours in a jumbo jet. Now it's getting to be a routine hop through LEO station an hour or so at most. This is over and above any training Superman may give them on using their powers, should they exist. Next? Yes, Ms. Takhito?"

The young Japanese woman checked her notes as she stood. "Ma'am, regarding this dress rehearsal invasion, I understand that we have a number of unofficial prisoners. What are we doing with them?"

"We discussed them with the International Red Cross. They are primarily slavers who bought their way into the invasion fleets in order to collar our young women as slaves, for their own profit. As they are not government personnel "

"What do you mean by 'government personnel', ma'am?"

"Someone who is trained, paid, and equipped by the government, who would be covered by the Geneva Accords. These slavers bribed their way into the fleets so they could biosculpt, collar and enslave our people for their profit. There are a few thousand of them out of over six hundred fifty thousand captives," and she eyed the assembled newsies. "People, they wanted to enslave our women and kill our men. I think a bit of poetic justice is in order here. Since they have no problem with doing that, they shouldn't have a problem with our treating them like they wanted to treat us. We're going to collar them and put them to work for us. However, we're going to pay them and treat them better than they treat slaves."

"We're going to enslave them?"

"NO! They will not be slaves!" The Empress looked around the press conference. "I repeat, they are not slaves. They will not be bought and sold, but they will be put to work, and they will be paid for their labor. Think of prison labor. They will not be sitting around and getting fat, they will work for their meals. If that means digging ditches, that's what they'll be doing." She looked around, "Next question?"

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Monday, September 1, 2003: 14:17 (relative)  
Foley, Island of Phips:  
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2LT Mark Higginbotham, part of the 10th battalion (Engineer) attached to the 55th Brigade (10/55), part of the 38th Division, Imperial Army, sank his shovel into the loose ground with a sigh. They were 4200 light years from Earth. 'Well, we've done quite a bit, but there's still more to do.' This had been a good dress rehearsal for combat assaults on other planets, although everyone recognized that no two would be the same. Here, the task group had popped out of FTL space inside the system's thirteen light-minute hyper limit, giving the Task Group's ships and their Marines experience in ship assaults (for those ship captains who did not agree to the politely-worded search requests) and boarding operations for stations and inspections of orbiting satellites.

The Army had performed an assault landing near the various towns, the 38th Division being a 'light' mechanized division, with an oversized battalion of heavy armor, which formed part of the division reserve. Four light infantry brigades, a support battalion of artillery and mortars, and a composite service brigade with companies for intel, logistics, medical, and his own battalion of combat engineers. In truth, the 38th was far over-manned for the expected opposition (and didn't even count the Navy, Marines or merchies in orbit), but this was also a test of the Army's ability to do a combat landing of all types of units from orbit. With over thirty thousand troops, they outnumbered the free civilian population by better than twenty to one. Mark had landed in the third wave, and the Engineers' job was to build the infrastructure. They had assumed a 'bare dirt' target with nothing they could use, and the orbiting freighters carried containers of everything from steel rebar to concrete to thousands of kilometers of various sorts of cable. Right now, he was digging the holes for the various landing lights for the airfield. Normally not an officer's job, but he didn't mind getting his hands dirty, and someone needed to do it. A lot of concrete was being poured while people operated out of tents until permanent facilities were built.

Mark turned, stretching, hearing his bones crackle, and could see the foundation pads for four large wind turbines being built along the top of 110 Ridge (so named because it was 110 meters high). That was one problem with this moon the wind was constantly blowing, between thirty and fifty kph. Below the foundation pads tunnels were being dug for the cables and various electrical equipment, and other pads were curing for a satellite farm.

From what ship's scuttlebutt had said, their entry into the system had interrupted the disposal of two passenger liners and half-a-dozen freighters, and the enslavement of the passengers and crew. The locals along with the involved pirates and slavers had not been happy (to put it mildly) when Admiral Greene had declared the locals were 'unfriendly' along with the associated hostile pirates and slavers, thus giving the legal basis for a military government, and change in the RoE(1).

* * *

Captain Roger Highfield, Imperial Army, suppressed a sigh. He was Military Police, which meant he had to deal with a group of angry ship captains. He counted to five, then shouted, "Sit down and SHUT UP!" This surprised them, they petered out, and he pointed. "SIT!" Grumbling, they did so.

"I don't care if you don't like this. You're here, you're representing your ships and crews, so you need this information to pass on to them. Now, does everyone have a folder with a chip? That has "

One captain looked up from his folder, "This is outrageous! I will not submit to wearing some sort of government tag!"

"Then you can sit in a prison cell until you do," Captain Highfield replied. "The only ones that are not required to carry one of our ID cards are the slaves. They're already wearing a form of ID." (He pointed to his throat.) "Would you prefer we biosculpt and collar you?" There was some laughter, and he continued. "This system is under martial law. That means that every person will be issued and will carry one of our ID cards. They will present it upon demand. There are two alternatives. One, you sit in a cell. Second, you are biosculpted, Enhanced, and collared. Either way, we will know where you are at all times." He looked around the room, "Certain areas, such as the port and the industrial areas, are restricted access. If you have business there, the database will be updated and you will be allowed access. So if one of your slaves has a job there, she will show up at the checkpoint, her ID will be verified, and she will proceed on. She will do her job and receive her pay "

"You will pay the animals?" one slaver shouted. "Outrageous!"

"Anyone who works gets paid. We will set them up with accounts at Lantern Bank, who will be watching those accounts closely, to make sure their owners don't steal their money." Several started to come to their feet, only to sit back when some of the heavily armed troops moved forward. "Furthermore," Captain Highfield continued, "each ID card will cost a hundred grams. ( /$12.00) The slaves' owners will be billed."

"And if we claim ownership of no slaves?" one slaver slyly asked.

"Then any slaves in your possession are stolen property," Highfield replied. "Assuming they were bred slaves. If they are captured slaves, then other charges would apply, such as assault, battery, theft and kidnapping. You and your personnel would be arrested and charged with the appropriate crimes, and should you be convicted at trial, be sentenced appropriately."

"Trial?" one sputtered, while another shouted, "Why are you here? Things were going well "

"They weren't, actually. The air and water were polluted, you weren't feeding yourselves, and this was a very poor colony." Highfield shifted, "Apparently nobody told you. The Terran Empire is fighting a war, and we have a fair number of captured prisoners, and putting them in sub-camps on the other continent is the easiest way to handle them."

"How many?" one slaver asked.

"Around seven hundred thousand, along with several thousand civilian camp followers, like slavers." There was a rustle at that, he continued. "As the slavers are not official prisoners of war, they don't go in with them. Since they're officially civilians, we decided to treat them like they treat others biosculpt, Enhancement and collaring them as slaves." There were several slavers that stood, one even rushed forward. He skidded to a stop as Highfield drew a sidearm and pointed it at his forehead. "You are attacking a member of the Imperial Army. I can kill you in self-defense, I would then be able to put your scalp on my shield. Sergeant Vasquez, show them your shield, please?"

The large man lifted his up, showing several rows of neatly hung scalps near the bottom. "Not as many as some of the Marines, jefe. Every one of them had a weapon and was coming at me. I killed most of them with my knife." He drew a long combat knife and put it near the slaver's eye. "One little push, senor. One little push. Oh, look, I have your blood on my blade " He held it away, and the tip was coated with a fine layer of blood. "My blade has drunk slaver blood again. Go ahead, jefe, pull the trigger. See if he'll die like a man. I'll scalp him for you; my pleasure. Ten of my scalps were filthy slavers, and five were pirates." There was a loud sound and a stench as the slaver's bowels emptied, he whimpered, sinking to his knees, arms crossed over his head.

" Mierda!" (Shit!) "Putamierda! Gilipollas!" (Fucking shit! Asshole!) Sgt. Vasquez screamed at the cowering slaver. He shoved him toward two of his armored troopers, saying "Drag him outside, strip him down and hose him off, then we'll Barbie the imb cil!"

"Remember, these get green hair, sergeant!"

"Si, jefe." The door closed behind him, and Captain Highfield cleared his throat, clicked the safety back on, and holstered his sidearm. He did not secure the flap. "To continue. We will be growing foodstuffs as well as manufacturing the basic structures of the sub-camps here. We will be using a civilian labor crew, as well as installing basic infrastructure, such as a water, sewer, power and a communications grid. That means a wider and healthier diet, and an improved economy." He bounced on his heels once, then added, "That's the good news. All of you have been caught disposing of stolen ships, cargo, and kidnapped passengers and crew. That cargo, those ships, passengers and crew will be returned "

"You can't do that! Those are mine! Ours!"

"Did you pay fair market value? Do you have a bill of sale? Did those passengers and crew sign documents voluntarily enslaving themselves?"

"Don't be stupid! This is nothing but theft!"

"And what do you do?" Highfield replied. "Theft. I would suggest you pray to the Source that there are no injuries or deaths among those passengers or crew, and that all the cargo and ships are intact. If they are not, we will prosecute you under the ICC(2), and apply those penalties."

"That applies to pirates. Why am I, a slaver here?" one elegant captain said with a sniff of disdain.

"You steal people's lives, but aside from that, as you've seen, we don't like slavers."

"I provide a perfectly legal service, marketing the animals."

"Legal? Perhaps. Then you won't object if we do it to you." The slavers were on their feet again, and once again, Highfield had his sidearm out. "Go ahead, attack. At this distance, the round will go through your head and two or three of the people behind you as well." He waited, then continued, "If it's good enough for you to do it to helpless people " He eyed the small crowd. "Cooperate with us, and we'll get along. This is a census, we're going to issue you temporary ID; you have ten local days to exchange it for permanent ID. As I said, this system is under military law. If anyone breaks the rules, which include a curfew, they are arrested and locked up. For your crew, they will receive a hearing, and we'll call you in to represent them. The rules will also list curfew hours, and which rules are simple lockup, and which have more serious punishment, including the death penalty."

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Monday, September 1, 2003: 17:45 (UTC)  
Terra, Hogsmeade railroad station:  
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"Firs' years over here! All firs' years, over here!" an enormous bearded man called, waving a lantern.

"Source!" Erika said, seeing the castle lit up against the night sky. The reflection rippled in the lake, along with torches lighting a footpath down to the lake.

"Right, now," Hagrid said. "I'm P'fessor Hagrid, I'm Keeper o' th' Keys an' Magical Creatures p'fessor. We're going tae cross to the castle now, so follow me. If ye' fall in, dan' worry, the squid in tha' lake will fish ya out, na trouble. E'ryone ready?" He chivvied the firsties down the footpath to the wooden dock, doing a headcount, and called "Four to a boat, ye' don't need ta row. Sixty six a' ye, so two wi' me, now!"

Erika got in a boat. As the boats moved slowly across the lake, the castle loomed even more. The boats drifted into a cavern under the lake, and a cloud of bats took off, to the shrieks of students. A minute later, the boat bumped up against the dock, and people started to clamber out. The boat moved off by itself as people stood in a nervous group on the dock.

"Righ'." Hagrid did a quick head count, then said, "We'll be goin' up to the Great Hall now. 'Tis where you're sorted into y' houses. F'llo me, now."

The Firsties followed him up a series of staircases until he stopped. "Righ'. One more flight, an' ye'll be met. I'll see ye'll later now. G'luck tae all o' ye at Hogwarts." He vanished, moving surprisingly quietly for such a large man. They looked around, then one of the girls shrugged, and went up the last flight of stairs, where a woman in soft green robes waited.

She looked them over sternly; then said, "Good evening. I am Deputy Headmistress Callista Vector. In a few minutes, you will proceed into the Great Hall, where you will be Sorted into your Houses. Those Houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin; they are your family while you are here at Hogwarts. Good grades and behavior will gain you and your house points, while misbehavior and rule breaking shall cost points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points will win the House Cup." She looked them over once again, "You have a minute to straighten up. I suggest you use it," and she vanished in turn.

Erika looked around, there were twenty-one other girls like her from Stockwell, who had come in various groups according to when they had been bought. Her hand reached up, touching her collar, then turned to Helen, who was (as always) overly fussy, and saying something about collar polish.

"Don't worry about that!" Aria said. "We're here! We're actual zarroji!"

"As long as you don't start singing " Charlotte commented. She ran a finger over her own collar's edge, then asked, "Do I look proper? This is all still so new to me, wearing something other than a slave smock "

"You all look fine," Warren Donaldson said. "I'd tuck in your blouses, though. I wish there were mirrors here." The girls all did so, Charlotte turning to Warren and adjusting his necktie. "Thank you, master."

"No master, but how did you all come to be wearing slave collars?"

"It is a long story, master. It starts when " One of the girls nudged her, and they turned to see Callista observing them silently, while other Firsties finished straightening their clothes. She inspected the Firsties with a frown; conjured a damp cloth for one, telling him, "Your cheek," then said, "Follow me," turned, and opened the doors.

Warren followed Professor Vector with the others, hearing people wonder about the ceiling, showing the almost-new moon and the stars, with the red dot visible on the moon. One boy tried to jump and reach a floating candle, but quieted at a glance from Professor Vector. There were four House tables with hundreds of black-clad students, all watching them in silence. The Firsties stopped at a gesture, huddling nervously together as Professor Vector advanced to stand next to a stool, where an ancient, patched and filthy hat was placed.

* * *

Ginny Potter watched as the Firsties entered, clumped together as they always were. She drew a breath as Alastair finished his annual song, and Callista told the Firsties, "When I call your name, please have a seat, and the Hat will Sort you into your House." There was the usual betting, and she called, "Alexander, Andrea!"

"So what do you think of the rescued slave girls," Severus Snape asked as 'Cayden, Mark' went to Gryffindor. He continued, "I think most of them will be Hufflepuff. They are too shy for anything else."

Harry Potter grunted, "There are twenty two of the sixty six, which gives us the largest annual cohort we've had in years. A third of them in Hufflepuff? Remember, I've gone over there to show them some things, as has Ginny. Yes, some of them are still in their shells, but some are coming out of them. What worries me is the fact that Fred and George have visited the school on multiple occasions." They paused as 'Donaldson, Warren' was called and swaggered up to the stool. "Gryffindor," Severus said. "The boy swaggered."

"I agree, Gryffindor," Aurora said, giving him a moderate glare. Alastair the Hat shouted "HUFFLEPUFF!" and galleons were exchanged.

"Stockwell, Aria!" and the first of the rescued girls approached the stool, where she seated herself, pulled back her hair, took a deep breath, and nodded to Professor Vector, who lowered the Hat.

'Good evening, Aria. Such a pretty name. My name is Alastair, and I'll be your Sorting Hat tonight.' Alastair continued his mental conversation after a second, 'I do apologize, a bit of humour. Given your name, may I presume you sing? Oh, no need to speak, my dear. Just think whilst I take a look. I've been sorting students for well over a thousand years, including all of those intimidating Professors behind us, and all the students watching us. Did you have a question or two?'

'I I'm scared ' she confessed.

'As has been every single person I've spoken with over those thousand years. Don't worry about it. You'll get your feet under you, why, with what you've already gone through ' Aria could hear him clear his mental throat and speak aloud. "Let's see I think the best place for you would be GRYFFINDOR!"

Professor Vector lifted Alastair off her head, and she headed for the cheering table to her far left.

"Well, that was a surprise," Pomona said, passing galleons to Ginny.

"Just a few more," she replied as the gambling continued, and the next firstie was called.

"Stockwell, Charlotte!" The girl hesitantly walked up to the stool, and Alastair was placed on her head.

'Good evening, Charlotte ' and she plucked him off her head, looking at him in confusion. "I need to be ON your head, dear girl, before I can Sort you properly," he commented.

"You're talking. I "

"Yes, my dear. Now, if you don't mind, we have a great deal to do tonight, so " She shook her head, then replaced him on her head. 'Yes, much better,' he commented in her mind. 'So, you're of somewhat mixed feelings about being here. Oh, just think, my dear. No need to speak aloud.'

'Yes, I knew, or thought I knew, what I was, and then I was bought, just a few months ago, and now I'm here,' she thought. 'I'm named, when nobody ever names a disposable slave like I am, and wearing actual clothing, and I'm wondering when I'll be punished for it. For thinking that I could be an actual free person, not just a disposable animal. It all seems well, too good to be true.'

'And there's something else, a yearning, a desire I sense.'

'Yes, master. I I want to be something else. I I want to be they have all the advantages, you see Iwanttobeamale,' she whispered, as in a confessional. 'I know it's absurd, it will never happen, but I can dream '

'I see. First of all, everything you and I speak of is confidential. A secret. I thought it might be something like that. Second of all, when we finish here tonight, I'm going to suggest to the Headmistress that you and I get together on a regular basis to talk; just like we're doing now. Third, after we've talked for a while, you'll be able to determine if those feelings are genuine, or simply the result of what you've experienced. If they are genuine, there are various potions and spells that can indeed do what you've been thinking about.' She started in surprise. 'Much as it may surprise you, I can tell you of several men who would trade places with you in an instant. Yes, collar and all. However, we do have business to conclude tonight.'

'I want to KNOW. I'm tired of being the last to know, the ignorant animal.'

'And so you shall. However, I want a promise from you. While you can research those spells and potions to your heart's desire, I want you to promise me that you will not act upon that knowledge without my consent.' He raised a mental finger, 'I am the elder of the two of us, so it gives me a bit more experience. I may see something you have overlooked. Do we have a bargain?'

She grumbled, but agreed. 'Excellent. By the by, a common nickname for 'Charlotte' is 'Charlie'. Yes, it's also a male name, but you're having met with the Weasley Twins several times, I think that can be understandable. So, we'd best get cracking,' and he spoke aloud. "Better be RAVENCLAW!"

The girl pulled him off her head, and Alastair asked, "Put me on a moment, Aurora." She did so, then nodded, and picked up her list again.

"Stockwell, Erika!"

* * *

Emma Sinestra saw the Headmistress stand, and tap her goblet twice. The Great Hall quieted, and she said, "I can hear stomachs growling from here, so I have one thing to say." She clapped her hands twice; "Enjoy." Food appeared on the table, and someone muttered "Finally!" as she reached for the potatoes.

The Headmistress stood again; tapping her wineglass. The noise died down, and she said, "I have only a few announcements. As you may know, two years ago, we were observed and scored by OFSTED, the schools directorate. As part of this, owl post is redirected to Professor Hagrid, who will also be picking up muggle post in town. He will distribute the post to your House prefects, who will deliver it to you." She waited out the complaints, "This only affects incoming post, outgoing post you may still use personal or school owls."

"Why did they do this?" someone called.

"They believed it was unsanitary to have wild animals in such close association with food. Feathers, dung, dirt, and so forth." She made a small gesture, "I am sorry, I did tell them that we had been operating like that for well over a thousand years, but that tradition, as well as several others like the moving staircases, are no more; they regarded it as a safety concern." She waited out the moans and complaints, mostly from the wizarding-raised. "We have changed and are incorporating muggle classes into the schedule, this means that fifth years will sit both their OWLs and the GCSE exams, the seventh years the NEWTs and their A-levels."

She waited out the expected and resultant groans. Taking another sip of water, she continued, "You should have received a list of electives; everyone will also take Physical Education classes. Those of you who already have an exercise regime, like our runners, may incorporate that or use it as an alternate. However, everyone, both staff and students will exercise at least two hours a week. I have also made arrangements for a golf team to compete against other schools in the Inverness region, although you will need to surrender your wands to me during matches." She smiled tightly, "The muggles seem to think we would cheat with them. Those of you who practice wand less and unspoken magic, I will require your word, although I do not think it necessary." She took a sip of water, "Due to the increasing number of muggle-born and raised students, we have football teams in each House, each will require at least three females play at all times. Finally, the Hufflepuff gymnasium has been updated with new equipment." There was some clapping at that.

"When you receive your schedules tomorrow, you will notice an 'ICC' class once a week. Each house and year will form a section, which will compete between themselves on such things as physical fitness, marksmanship with both rifle and pistol; field craft as well as academics." She took a sip of water. "There will be no discrimination between males and females, you will compete for your section, and with other schools. This is military training, you will be issued the appropriate uniforms and equipment. I will mention that you will follow all rules regarding rifles and pistols, these may be small, but they are also lethal weapons." She glowered at all of them. "Having taken this training, when and if you enlist in the Imperial military, it will give you a step up."

"Lastly, Mr. Filch, our caretaker, asked me to remind you that magic is not allowed in the corridors. He also informs me that the entire catalog from Weasley Wizard Wheezes have been added to the forbidden items list. That list is now seventy nine feet in length, and is available for your perusal at Mr. Filch's office." People chuckled, and she added, "I must remind you all that the Forbidden Forest is indeed forbidden if you do not wish to die a most horrible death." She waited for the murmurs to die away, then said, "Tomorrow is the first day of classes, so off to bed with you."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, September 2, 2003: 09:55 (UTC)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Classroom 23 (ICC):  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Bill Morton entered the classroom with his girlfriend Ami Bones, looking around. By now, he was used to the way stone walls of the castle came and went without regard to things like structural load. They dropped their bags against a wall with others and stood, waiting and talking to their classmates.

"Attention!" someone called, and they turned to the front. An extremely fit camouflage - uniformed officer stood at ease, and some of the students tried to assume the same position. Others couldn't be bothered to interrupt their conversations, and ignored the officer. He waited, then said in that same loud, carrying voice, "I am Major Alfred Payne, British Army retired, and a wizard; commanding Hogwarts Company. As this is your first class, I will ignore the insult offered by some of your classmates. In the future, you will attend this class, and the one preceding it, in the uniform I shall specify in the previous class. When you enter, you will stand at ease in sections. You will be silent and attentive. Should I need to discipline some of you, all of you will be participating in that discipline." Some people started to complain, but Bill wisely kept quiet. "For the first class, because of the chatterboxes, you will start by assuming the press-up position. On your bellies, hands next to your shoulders, and up, hold for five seconds, and down. Repeat twenty-five times. Begin." As the class started, Major Payne strolled over to the chatterboxes and informed them with a tap on their shoulders with his swagger stick, "For not paying attention and disrupting class, twenty five points each, and detention with me tonight, nineteen-hundred, at the pitch. Wear your exercise clothing. Now begin."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, September 2, 2003: 12:59:53 (UTC)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Classroom 16 (potions):  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Charlie Stockwell slid into her seat, hearing the door slam shut. She panted softly, she had heard from her new housemates of Professor Snape.

"Barely on time, Ms. Stockwell," a voice whispered behind her, and the tall, menacing form of Professor Snape appeared in her vision. "I expect better performance in the future. Is that understood?"

"Y yes, master," she got out, and he whispered "Sir, or Professor. Not 'master'. You are no longer a slave girl to be bought and sold in the market." He moved off, and Charlie let her breath out as Professor Snape eyed the class, taking roll. He flipped the folder shut, eying the silent firsties, and said, "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making. I do not expect you at this early stage to understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of potions that creep through veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses." He looked about the class, "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death." He glowered, "If you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, September 2, 2003: 18:55 (UTC)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Quidditch pitch:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"I see you like the camo uniforms," Bill commented to Ami as they took seats in the stands. The pitch had been circled by a running track, and the people with detentions were gathered, standing by year.

"Yes, this jumper is so warm, and I don't have to wear skirts, so I'm good. Look, there's Major Payne." The Major was striding forward, with other officers levitating crates behind them. He took two steps up on a stand and cast 'Sonorus'. "You are all here to serve your detentions. You will line up by year and receive a rifle. You will run around the track twice, holding the rifle above your head. Once you have done so, you have completed tonight's detention." He took a step down, casting 'Quietus'.

"That's all?" Ami asked. "That's nothing!"

"Dunno. Hang on " he said, punching numbers into a calculator. He whistled, "The perimeter of the track is 645 meters. Twice is almost 1300 meters, or almost a mile, and we're going to be building up to ten and twenty kilometer runs." He gestured, "You know how out of shape most of the wizarding world is. A galleon says no one finishes."

"No bet," she replied as she watched the seventh-years start off. Some of them got a quarter of the way around the track before dropping their arms and staggering into a walk. They were 'motivated' into resuming a lurching run by the junior officers who screamed at them, and the ones who had dropped their rifle and lay in the grass. "Remind me never to get a detention with these blokes."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, September 3, 2003: 05:38 (relative)  
Foley, Town of Phips:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Good morning; grab some coffee and take a seat," BGEN Anderson said as Mark came in, joining the other officers. Outside, the wind whistled, and the canvas door to the large tent flapped. Inside, it was a bit more comfortable, as a pair of biofuel stoves ran, the tent edges held down with sandbags. There was a table set up with tea and coffee, and Mark headed that way.

* * *

" agreed with Admiral Greene. Treat the locals as unfriendly until they prove themselves differently," General Anderson said. "That doesn't mean be rude or hostile, but be cautious. We have a revised set of Rules of Engagement, but our people always have the right to self-defense." He took a swallow from his own mug. "Progress. We've taken the mines and the towns. John?"

"We have surveyed the routes and laid out the plans for installing fuel piping, electrical and comm cable alongside the existing roads, sir," Col. Masters said as he stood. "A total of roughly twelve hundred kilometers, we'll need pumping stations, transformers and repeaters every fifty kilometers or so, which means we can establish them with the outpost forts as well as the town garrisons. We can run extensions into the towns whenever we need to." The General nodded, and the engineer continued. "We've got a total of twenty-four wind turbines we can install for the power network, the locals have a gravel pit along with a small cement plant and a rock plant. That has a hammer mill along with a grinder we can use to make sand from tailings. The gravel pit is temporarily shut down while we review operations and give the slaves medical examinations. We will then install better, healthier and more user-friendly equipment. We wouldn't mind a clay pit, though."

Col. Masters shook his head. "Sir, the coal seam the locals are using is a thin one, and the slaves mining it were sick beyond the normal mining hazards. We have looked, apparently, the locals needed a source of fuel beyond the planet-wide forests, and this burned, so they just started digging. This colony, if you can call it that, is only about seventy-five years old, and they are not in any way miners, geologists, or engineers, and quite frankly I'm amazed that they haven't had more fatal accidents than they already have." He cleared his throat, "What they were throwing away in their tailings was ore that was a fairly good nickel-iron, along with some thorium, gold, silver, and tungsten. We have moved their slaves to medical treatment and closed the mine temporarily while we work on a redesign. When we install an industrial sized replicator, we can start recycling the mine's tailings and recovering useful materials. For now, we're planning on installing wind turbines on the top of the ridge for power, and a small blast furnace."

The General nodded, and Col. Masters continued. "Sir, moving along to the lumber yard, we'll be able to build whatever log structures we'll need."

"I thought we were going to be using Hesco barriers for those."

"Temporarily, sir, with tents. We have no evidence of the locals possessing IEDs(3) or RPGs(4); and I would rather not have them shivering in a cold tent in winter, and the thicker walls of a log cabin will provide better protection than canvas. We can still use sandbags and Hescos for the walls of the outposts and our forts as well as security." He took a swallow from his water bottle, "Sir, lumbering and the associated mill we can use, but there will be resentment in free persons' doing 'slave labor' (he finger-quoted)."

"Arrogant bastards," someone said.

"Yes. They're too good to do manual labor," Col. Masters agreed. "The lumbering operation has been Mr. Dursley's baby, so with your consent, I'll turn the floor over to him."

"Mr. Dursley?" the General asked.

A fairly young but large fellow stood. "Good morning, everyone," he said with a British accent. "For those that don't know me, my name is Dudley Dursley, my remit has been to design buildings using the available resources. The primary resource is timber, some of which trees are fifty meters or more in diameter." There were whistles at that, and Mr. Dursley nodded. "Indeed. First, I would like to give a brief, very brief outline on what happens when a tree is felled in the forest. First, we shall be cutting very low to the ground, for two reasons. One, called coppicing, lets us regrow trees from the stumps. Second, with our tech, we can use the entire tree, including the branches. Now then, we shall be using draft animals, very large oxen called shonnen, some twenty feet long, to drag the tree to our initial treatment area. By the by, I understand we have a new species available, something like a centaur. With some of these woods, getting any sort of vehicle in would be near impossible. I'd like to hire on some of them for lumberjack and shonnen minding duties."

"That new species is the Caprica, and I was thinking of having them run taxis and postal runs in town, but we'll let them decide," Col. Masters called. "Good job. How would you pay them?"

"Perhaps by the tree's volume?" Captain Highfield suggested.

"We'd need to figure the volume of a cone for the trunk, and volume of chips for branches and whatnot," Mr. Dursley mused. "Something to think on, and negotiate with them. Will they be unionized?" He shook his head. "Sorry, it's the Labour voter in me. Once the tree is felled, it is dragged to our field treatment, which is just a small meadow with a few wagons and a wood chipper. The tree is still green at this point, up to fifty percent water. Its 'bucked', the limbs and whatnot are removed and chipped. The chips we can use later for fuel for stoves and ovens, as well as mulch. The tree is taken off in a wagon with others to the mill, where they are sawn and dried. Once again, we recover the sawdust and whatnot for the fuel press."

"That's the second time you've mentioned a fuel press, son," the General commented.

"Yes, sir. Wood waste like chips and sawdust can be reduced to a paste in a hammer mill, and then extruded into cakes or pellets." He reached down into his bag, passing a cake and a small plastic bag of pellets to the General. He examined it, a stack of connected tan disks with holes through the pressed wood, each about the size of a hockey puck. They were cut, so each one could be twisted off from the stack, and wrapped in waxed paper for kindling. The plastic bag of pellets looked like a bag of broken pencils, each about 5mm in diameter and a centimeter long. Mr. Dursley cleared his throat, "Sir, we initially thought to burn coal in the stoves, given the wind chill on this planet. However, from what I have heard, there are problems with coal in these little stoves. They're rather smoky with coal." (He gestured to the two in the tent.) "We can burn the chips or pellets in those stoves for heating tents and cabins, and hot water for cooking, drinking and bathing, our only real costs are packaging and transportation, our material cost is virtually free, and it will inject cash into the local economy."

"Good point, son. Continue on."

"Yes, sir. Some of the straighter tree trunks have the bark left on one side for waterproofing. When they are milled, they are grooved so they interlock. When they are put together, we use some of the cement and the wood ash to make a mortar. We can also put lathe and plaster on the interior walls if needed. Plumbing, electric, data connections are run through the slab and into cutouts on the interior, so with input from different groups, we can build everything from a small office to a gaol to a mess to a barracks. It's simply a matter of interlocking log type 1 with log type 3."

"Maintenance shed?" someone called.

"Yes, and multistory as well." The General cleared his throat, and Mr. Dursley nodded. "To continue. I assume most of you have done the odd DIY(5) job at home, built a deck, plumbing or whatnot. The end designs we needed to look at were building walls and components. We don't know of any large carnivores that would find us a tasty snack whilst clearing fields and such, so the prison camps have been designed with a wooden palisade wall five meters high, which should keep out any nasties. Add some barb wire and a watchtower or two, and the PoWs should be safe enough from being eaten while asleep in camp. Fields we can separate out with Irontip bushes, which will create a three meter hedge and a gate should keep fields secure." He took a sip from his own water bottle, "Regarding the palisade walls, they're bolt-together with deep concrete footings, to keep out tunneling animals."

"Good brief, Mr. Dursley," the General remarked. "Highfield, what about the population survey?"

Captain Highfield spoke up, "A lot of grumbling, sir, and we've had to arrest some people that threatened our troops, although most of those were drunk-and-disorderly. We've killed four that started fights in public with our troops, clear cases of self defense. Six others we're going to Barbie, we're distinguishing our imported blue Barbies from the locals with green hair. All ten we have on video, the JAG(6) has signed off on them." He frowned, "Sir, we do expect the number of green Barbies to go up, especially the slavers. We also need to decide on where they'll work and how much they'll be paid." The General nodded, and Highfield continued. "Second point, sir. We've been doing random security checkpoints and issuing temporary ID, but a lot of the free locals don't like the slaves not having to carry them."

"They are carrying them, sir," Mark said, and tapped his throat.

"True, and we've pointed that out. We really need a civil penalty, though. Can we use the gravel pit for that?"

"How many and where are they now?"

"Aside from those I've mentioned, about a dozen 'drunk and disorderly' types. They're in a fenced area with a container for shelter and a port-a-toilet trailer. When they sober up, we ID them and release them."

The General grunted and nodded. "Roads and rail?"

"Roads are primarily dirt and gravel at the moment, sir. We're in the process of figuring quantities of gravel and bitumen for our outposts and bases, and examining existing bridges. Rail gauge is two meters, which is non-standard for us. Steam locomotives, we are looking at converting them into either wood, diesel or natural gas fuels. If not, we have a diesel-electric locomotive aboard one of the freighters, but it uses standard gauge track, so we'd have to order new running gear and have it shipped out from Earth."

General Anderson grunted. "The outpost garrisons?"

"We should be able to start laying concrete by the end of the week. We still need to check the lumber camps, and getting the shonnen, the draft oxen in to pull the wagons." Col. Masters sipped his coffee, "Sir, I'd like to move the natural gas plant on the second moon up in priority. We're installing piping for natural gas along with the diesel pipelines, and currently the only civilian energy source is firewood. The coal mine is, as I said, out of operation at this time, and the wind turbines are not going to help outside our camps until we can tie them in to the electric grid."

"Orbital works?" someone asked.

"Not until Phase V. We're still in Phase I," Col. Masters replied.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, September 5, 2003: 13:05 (UTC)  
Hour 577.05/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge Comprehensive School:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Settle down, please," the tall, raven-haired woman said from behind her desk. She glanced around as she called out names, taking the roll and ticking them off on her desk terminal as the students got out their DataPadd s. Given the general lack of trees most people used the inexpensive DataPadds, about the same size and thickness of a legal pad. The prep work complete, she locked her terminal, then walked around the desk to lean against it. She studied her class as they studied her the new teacher. They saw a tall woman with straight black hair hanging down to her waist in a braided ponytail, wearing a light grey skirted suit with white blouse, matching jacket and dark grey patterned hose with black knee boots. She waggled one foot back and forth on the stiletto heel, "Good afternoon, and welcome to Luna and Port Oldridge Comprehensive. My name is Diana Prince, and I formerly taught in the New York City schools. This is sixth-form Social Studies, you may also have me for History. Port Oldridge and Luna are expanding rapidly, getting new people from all over the Empire. One thing we are trying to do is develop a unified approach to History and Social Studies, away from any political bias." She looked around, "As I said, I'm from the US, but we have people here from all over, all with different histories. Chinese, European, South and North America, Australia, and a few of the colony planets. All have their own histories, their own ways of setting up and running governments. We're going to be thinking critically, and you will be expected to both express your own opinions, and to defend them. No saying, 'Um, because it's the best!'" She smiled as a few people chuckled. "If it's the best, tell us why."

"Now then. I said I was from the US, which means I have a bias toward both representative and direct democracies. There are many, many other forms of government, from absolute and constitutional monarchies, through various forms of communism, corporate rule, democracy, fascism, meritocracies, military rule, oligarchies, and plutocracies. There are advantages and disadvantages for all of them, and I'm going to give you your first bit of homework." There was a groan, and she smiled. "End of the month, the twenty-sixth and possibly October third, you're going to stand up here and give a five minute presentation " (more groaning) "AND answer questions about your particular form of government. Now, everyone picking one or two types would be too easy, so you're going to file by me, and pick one from this fishbowl. That's what you're going to report on, so you need to know whichever one you pick, and I want examples, people!" There was more groaning, and she reached behind her, stirring and shaking up the fishbowl with slips of (expensive, imported) paper. "No trading, either. First row, please."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, September 8, 2003: 12:03 (EDT:UTC -5)  
Terra, Cleveland Municipal Building:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"So, Irene, tell us about the letter from Mark," Marci Good said as she waited for one of the microwaves to be available.

"I got it this morning, and printed it out at home using my own paper and ink," she emphasized, as their boss, Mary Lou Thompson was listening. Mary Lou was a micromanaging bitch and a control freak, this was why Irene had waited until her lunch break to talk about her letter. Mary Lou took a precise bite from her sandwich, then neatly centered it as she laid it on the plastic baggie (which she would wash, dry, and reuse), neatly wiped her mouth as she chewed and listened. "Anyway, Miss Wayne said they were doing a 'dry run' invasion on this pirate base on a moon, and I think that's where Mark is. He said they were in transit about a week, and then they popped out of hyperspace above this gas giant. He said it really should be called a planet, it's in orbit around a different, larger gas giant than the first one, he watched out his cabin's porthole as the first landing went in. He's a civil engineer, and " One of the microwaves 'dinged' and she put her bowl of soup in to heat. She punched buttons, then continued, "Anyway, he's been doing survey work and concrete foundations, things like that. He said that the Army wasn't really that different than other jobs he'd been on, except that he was issued clothing and equipment, and that included a sidearm."

Another microwave 'dinged' and Marci put her soup in. "Anything new and unusual?"

"They found another intelligent species, the Caprica. Apparently the pirates and slavers had been using them for draft animals. Mark said they resembled centaurs, only with two sets of arms and four legs. Oh, and no hooves like horses, they have a large, two-toed claw as part of their feet." She curled two fingers and clawed at the air. "The lower arms are somehow part of the front hip, and the upper arms are where we have them. Three fingers and a thumb. The slavers had collared them." Her microwave 'dinged' and she extracted her soup, carrying it over to her place.

Mary Lou looked interested. "Please continue, Mrs. Higginbotham," she said.

"Yes " she said. "Anyway, Mark was working on surveying and foundations. They've installed a few large wind turbines, because there's a strong wind constantly blowing, so they're using that to set up a power grid. The island, and Army censors took out the planet's name and that kind of thing on his email, has about fifteen hundred free and about ten or twelve thousand slaves. There was a coal mine, but they closed that down, for what Mark said were health reasons. If they were using slaves in the mines, it can't have been good conditions. I mean, look at West Virginia and all the mine accidents they have, even with modern safety gear." People nodded, "There are huge forests covering the planet, so what they'll be doing is something with wood chips and using them as fuel. The roads are dirt tracks, they have a railroad, but Mark said they'll need to rebuild or build new road and rail bridges."

"Railroads?" Marci asked, and Irene smiled. Marci was a dedicated, if not obsessive rail fan. "Yes. Apparently they aren't 'standard gauge' (she finger-quoted), whatever that is "

"Fourteen hundred thirty five millimeters or four feet, eight and a half inches between rails."

"Yes he said they were two meters "

"Irish gauge is sixteen hundred, that means " Someone cleared their throat, and she stopped and blushed. "Sorry. Please continue."

Irene smiled, "So the reason for all of this is to take care of all the POW's we've taken. There's something like six or seven hundred thousand of them, from the two fleets, along with a few thousand slavers that came along to collar us and profit from our sale. From what I understand, we'll be setting up the POW's in subsidiary camps, where they can grow food and live. What we're doing is building the structure to build those camps."

"Eat, Mrs. Higginbotham," Mary Lou said. "Your soup's getting cold. You didn't mention the slavers."

"Yes, thank you. I was just so happy to get a letter " Irene applied herself to her soup and sandwich, then continued. "The slavers are not covered under the Geneva Convention, as they're not government forces. They're profiteers, and the Red Cross said we can do to them what they've done to their victims."

"Make them slaves," Marci said. "Good. Serves them right."

"Indeed," Mary Lou agreed. "I would hope they would be treated exactly as they have treated so many others. Make them little slave girls with a collar; but who would we sell them to?"

"Um " Irene held up a finger as she swallowed. "This bio-sculpt can do that. Apparently what we're doing is making them life-size Barbie dolls, with different colored hair, a big bust, and a tiny waist, then collaring them. We're not selling them, indeed, we're paying them. That's what has almost provoked riots there, the idea of paying slaves for their work. That's what we're doing with the existing slaves that we've liberated, and offering them a free ticket home."

"Hmf," Mary Lou grunted. "We should sell the Barbies."

"Well, the blue-haired Barbies are being put to work, but as grunt labor. Moving dirt from pile A to pile B, that kind of thing. The other slaves, the captured ones are being offered a trip home, but the bred slaves, they don't have a home to go back to, so we're offering them places as free colonists. A few of them have even asked about the Army!"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, September 10, 2003: 16:28 (UTC)  
Hour 192.28/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, HIM offices:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Ah, Superman," the Empress greeted him warmly, and then regarded the woman with him a bit more coolly. "Ms. Prince. Thank you for coming. This is Mr. Atman with the Admiralty court."

"Err, um, yes. Thank you, ma'am," the weedy young man stammered. "We weren't able to contact you, Mr. Superman, but the Empress said she could arrange a meeting, which is why you're both here. I have the court's decision on your respective claims for the probe and custody of the passenger." He broke open sealed packages, inserting one end of the chip into his DataPadd , then asking, "Ma'am, um, ladies first. Please verify the package was sealed; sign and thumb for it." Ms. Wayne did so, and he ejected the chip, putting it back into the package and handing it to her. "Mr. Superman?" He did in his turn, and Mr. Atman thanked them both, and then excused himself.

"Well, shall we see what the court decided?" Ms. Wayne invited them into her inner office, waving them to the conversation area. Ms. Prince stopped, "That is a huge fish tank."

"Realistic, isn't it? It's a screen saver for a smart wall display," she replied. "Tea? Coffee?" Both her guests shook their heads, and she took a swallow from her desk's coffee mug, then brought over her own DataPadd and a spare one, giving it to Superman. She took a deep breath, "Let's see what the court ruled," and inserted her chip.

"Hmm," she said after a minute, and then looked at Superman. "Trade?"

"I can't believe it," he grumbled, then swapped with Ms. Wayne. "I'm clearly the better choice "

"I repeat my offer, Mr. Superman. You know what my family can do." They traded DataPadds again, Diana saying hesitantly, "If the Amazons can do anything, as their Ambassador, I "

"Actually, Ms. Prince, you aren't the Ambassador of Themyscira or the Amazons for a simple reason," the Empress said, and raised a finger for silence as the other woman started to protest. "Paradise Island never applied for diplomatic recognition, and thus does not have an Embassy, nor do they have an Ambassador. They aren't even taking advantage of other nation's consular services, so as an Amazon, you're a un-person." She sat back, "You might want to bring that up the next time you travel to Themyscira. If they decide to do so, then we can negotiate treaties and so forth."

"Diana, I've been wondering where you were. You dropped out of sight, took a leave of absence "

"It's HER fault!" Diana exploded. "The little bitch! She caused me to lose my job, my apartment was burglarized, I lost all my things, I had to take a a LOAN from her to get back on my feet, and I'm powerless!" She stood, tried to do her twirl into Wonder Woman, and failed. "All I get is dizzy when I do it! She's stripped me of my powers!"

"So you're now a normal, mortal woman," Ms. Wayne said. She sat back and regarded the older woman. "A personal loan, at two percent interest, and by the by, Ms. Prince, you're late on your agreed-upon payments." Tenting her fingers, she calmly said, "Since you brought it up, you lost your job by exceeding your allowed absences. You were allowed two weeks of vacation and ten days sick time by the teacher's contract, which you exceeded in your first three months, often without any notice. You decided not to join the teacher's union, so they were not going to do anything for you. The only thing that kept you in your job for as long as you were was your students' performance and motivation to learn. You are an excellent teacher, Ms. Prince, but you lack self-discipline. I am glad to see you teaching at Port Oldridge; education is very important. However, your teacher's license does require continuing education."

"And my powers?" Diana demanded.

"I have no idea," Ms. Wayne said. "I'd like to return some of your equipment that you loaned to us, though." She raised a hand, and a package sailed over to her. She offered it, and as Ms. Prince struggled to open it, offered her a knife. As an aside, she explained to Superman, "We borrowed some of the equipment for analysis. It was allegedly forged by the gods. Well, there are forge marks and some residual spells, well over four thousand years old, but I think the gods would use mithril, not a titanium alloy."

"Ahhh," Diana sighed in relief. "My bracelets, my tiara, and my lasso. Thank you." She put them on, and then tried her spin again. "What? I still can't transform!" She put out a hand to steady herself, glaring at the Empress. "And what about my eggs?"

"You donated your eggs and a blood sample, just as I have, and as Superman here has donated a sample of his blood and sperm for analysis," the Empress replied. "You freely gave consent."

"You had me turned into a brick!"

"You attacked me, in public, for no known reason. Surely I can defend myself and others?"

Superman cleared his throat, "Is that true, Diana?"

"I had a reason!"

"Ah, we finally find out what that reason is!" Ms. Wayne replied. "I would suggest you calm down, Ms. Prince. What was your reason?"

"You were meeting with a professional assassin! I had to stop you!"

"Who I meet with, when, or where, is of no concern of yours, Ms. Prince. Furthermore, as a former Ambassador yourself, you should know that governments must hold all options open. Once again, I must ask you to calm down."

"Or you'll turn me into a brick again!"

"Calm down, Ms. Prince." She stood, "Now then, you have received your property back, Mr. Superman has seen that you are indeed alive and well, I believe our business is concluded. Thank you for your time." She turned away, toward Superman, and Crystal gestured toward the door. Diana held the borrowed throwing knife in her hand, looking at the Empress' turned back, then said, "You know, I hate you, you little bitch."

"You're not one of my favorite people either, Ms. Prince," the Empress replied as she turned. She glanced at the knife, still in Diana's hand, then back at her. She took a step forward, "However, I meant it when I said you were an excellent teacher. I enjoyed my visit to your classroom, and wouldn't mind a visit to your new classes." She was only a few centimeters away from the taller woman. There was silence, and then Diana flipped the knife in her hand, offering it handle-first. "Thank you for the loan of your knife."

"You're welcome, Ms. Prince. Let me know when you'd like me to come by," the Empress replied as she accepted it. Diana nodded, then scooped up her box and left.

"Ms. Wayne?" Superman asked.

She made the knife disappear, and then offered a file folder, "The Empire's offer for licensing the tech, and our offer for acclimating the passenger. Would you like to negotiate now, or later?"

"I have some thinking to do. Good evening, ma'am."

* * *

"The problem is that any Kryptonian is going to have a learning curve," Clark said later that evening. Mattie looked up from where she was feeding little Lana, zooming around a spoonful of mashed peas until it 'docked' with Lana's mouth. "That's right, but first we're going to need to get some basic information. Height, weight, photos, that kind of thing, and they presumably already have a name. Right now, we don't know if it's a boy or girl."

"I know that," Clark replied, and Lois complained, "I wish I could file a story about the decision."

"The judge asked us to wait until the formal decision on Friday." Clark said with a moderate glare in her direction. "And you, young lady, taking away Diana's powers?"

"Hey, I said I didn't know, and I was speaking the truth," Mattie protested as another spoonful of peas 'docked' with Lana. The infant giggled, and her Aunt Mattie wiped her face. "She is a great teacher, though, even if I don't like her."

"However, he ("Or she," Lois put in.), will need to learn just how fragile the people of this planet, and people in general are." Clark commented. "Second is that as a teenager, she ("Or he," Lois commented with a smirk.) will know everything about everything, and doesn't have the experience to know better."

"Should I be offended?" Mattie asked the air.

"Probably," Lois advised. "Seriously, she has to learn that she's not invulnerable, not perfect, and certainly not infallible. She's going to have to learn that she ("Or he," her husband said.), can screw up just like the rest of us mere mortals."

"Including Superman," Clark said.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, September 12, 2003: 09:52 (relative)  
Foley, Island of Phips:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Mark's borrowed half-track pulled into the partially built area of the supply base. The foundations for the walls were laid, the concrete for a wet moat was laid, and at the bottom of that moat were the mounts for punji sticks. Around the perimeter were secured coils of barbed wire; other engineers were busily completing the infrastructure. He left the vehicle, walking over to where the pipeline he would be extending crossed the line of the foundation walls. Looking it over, he nodded in approval the two fuel lines and the power and fiber-optic comm cable were protected by a culvert, so they would not be damaged by the weight of the defensive walls. He turned, he could see the foundations for two of the six walls of the base, and where the various pumps and filters would be placed. He turned, and glancing at a rough map, found the tent where his work party was sheltering from the wind.

* * *

" think you understand, I wanted a work party, not a bunch of slaves!" Mark said.

The MP corporal shrugged, "We got a detail of four seven-girl chains for work, you can take them or not," she shrugged. Her male partner grinned, and she smirked at him, "Yeah, you're enjoying the guard duty." She shrugged, "You asked for untrained labor, right?" She shrugged. "They're blue barbies, use 'em or not, sir." She gestured at the four rows of naked slaves, motionless and kneeling head down in the dirt, their ankles chained together, back-cuffed and leashed together.

"Right Help me load them in the truck. What about a key?"

The male guard tossed him a T-grip key. "I'll get another one, sir. All right, you barbies, release!" They shifted and relaxed a bit, moving sore muscles. "Remember, they're slavers, sir, so you work 'em like they deserve. Barbies, stand up!" They struggled to their feet, "Turn right! Right, you ignorant little bitches! Have you forgotten my little toys?" He produced a small box, and pressed a button, and the barbies fell to their knees, screaming. "Lots different when you're wearing the collars, isn't it? Back up, or I use my other toy on your tits! Such nice, big tits you have now, or would you prefer your furry little crotch? Yeah, I like that idea!" The barbies struggled to their feet again, their ankles chained, the other sides of their ankle shackles (riveted on) were linked to the barbies before and behind them.

The female guard snapped, "Head back, chest out! You're proud to wear our collar!" She thumbed a shock stick on, it making an electric crackling sound, "Yeah, you little blue-haired bitches know this sound well. Chest out! More! Suck those bellies in! Feet apart! I want to see those ankle chains stretch! Now you're going to work for the lieutenant, and I don't want to hear of problems, or every one of you little blue-haired barbies is going to pay me back!" She gestured, "Move 'em out, Moore!"

* * *

Mark stopped at the first site. There were pallets of pipe, several large boxes of connectors and other parts, tools, and so forth. He went around back, dropped the tailgate with a bang, then called, "Everyone out! We're losing time!" The barbies started to wiggle their way out, Mark stopped the first one, releasing the ankle chains and her hands. They were still linked by their leashes, he got the first chain out, telling them to help the others down.

"Here's the situation," Mark said as the barbies knelt. "We were planning on each crew doing five kilometers of pipe a day. We'll try for that, and see how much we get done. Instead of four crews, I'm doing one, because we don't have power equipment, and each of you will be rotating jobs. Can everyone see this? Good. There's several work crews. The front crew will be pulling the cable from the reel, that goes in the ditch. Pull the entire five kilometers off; then straighten it. The block crew will put an aluminum plate over the side concrete blocks in the ditch, over the cable, and then stack these sandbags so the slope can be adjusted. The cleaning crew will run brushes through both of these pipes to make sure they're clean, then hand them off to the pipe crew. They have the critical job; they will connect both types of pipe in the ditch, and make sure the pipes don't have a slope, or tilt, greater than two degrees, and you'll use a level to check. Two degrees is the red line on the level. The six centimeter pipe will carry pressurized natural gas, the fifteen centimeter pipe will carry diesel fuel, a liquid. When it's done, you'll plant one of the red flags, and another crew will come by to finish things off." He clapped his hands, "Let's get started!"

C'hroot, the Terran agent-in-place among the captured slavers, frowned to herself. The former Sarah Anderson had been bio-sculpted, collared and Enhanced, and was now on a work crew. Not for the first time she regretted taking this assignment, but it had been one of those 'or else' assignments to cover for a major screw-up on her part. Now she was trapped, in more ways than one, with no real end in sight other than to continue.

All twenty-eight of the barbies had dragged the heavy cable off the spool, and her coffle of seven slaves had gone to start retrieving pipe in ten meter segments. Two pairs of barbies were able to use their leash chains linked together to support the pipes, sliding them off onto the ground; she had already built up something of a sweat, despite the cold wind.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, September 15, 2003: 14:28 (UTC)  
Hour 310.28/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, HIM offices:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Hmm " the Empress mused as she watched the video feed from the Assembly chambers on her smart wall display. Her Commerce Minister, Mr. Kim Soo-bin, was in the hot seat during this month's Question Time. This was a new tradition of a few hours once a month that the Assembly had adopted. Her Ministers rotated through, and members of the Assembly placed questions on the agenda for that scheduled Time. She was relieved that she didn't have to stand and deliver Answers, although she did have an annual State of the Empire speech from the Assembly chambers. Today, Ms. Delacour (the younger) was going at Mr. Kim. She stood, moving to her desk and tapping the intercom, coffee mug in her left hand. "Ellen, please ask Ms. Gabrielle Delacour's office if the honorable MA would do me the courtesy of stopping by later this afternoon."

"Yes, ma'am. Your fourteen-thirty's here."

"Ask them for five minutes, please." She headed to her private loo.

* * *

Maureen 'Mo' Tanner was an experienced journalist who had been one of the people on their annual 'Person of the Year' assignment. This was the third year she had drawn Wayne, and she had been surprised at getting this interview she had heard that Wayne was apparently miffed that she hadn't been chosen for the last few years. However, this year

"Ms. Tanner! Welcome to Luna and Port Oldridge. Did you have a good flight?" Ms. Wayne ignored the presence of photographers as she shook the reporter's hand. "Let me buy you a cup, and then we can get down to business. A bit of milk and two sugars, as I recall?"

"Yes, ma'am," 'Mo' replied, a bit startled.

"I do try," the Empress said modestly as the photographers left. She passed over a mug with the Imperial Cypher (monogram) on it, took her own refilled mug, and waved at the casual seating area near the smart wall. Smoothing her skirt, she noticed as Mo took out her small tape recorder, "By the by, Ms. Tanner, everything here is monitored and recorded. Now then, what's your first question?"

Before she pressed the 'record' button, 'Mo' asked, "There's a reason you've mentioned that."

"We've had ... difficulties ... in being misquoted and out of context. It also helps our transparent government initiatives."

* * *

"... I'm very pleased to note that not only is employment up worldwide, but the general economic trends are also positive," the Empress said, and took a sip from her own mug. Mo waited, then said, "Nothing like a war for the economy," hoping to get a reaction.

She didn't get one. "Unfortunately true, Ms. Tanner. Unfortunately true," the Empress agreed. "It is also unfortunate in that we predict this will be a long war. Once we have taken one of the Republic's planets, we are not going to sit idly by, we'll be fixing the problems. Now it depends on what the individual planet's problems are; if it's the economy, cleaning the land, air or water, or something else, but we want those planets able to stand on their own, not have a large proportion of their economies going to prop up the central government on Aeeloh, not to mention lining the pockets of the oligarchies." She took another sip, "No, while taxes are unfortunately necessary, we'd rather redirect most of those to the local planetary economy, which in itself would be a major economic boost."

"How do we know that we're not just substituting their overlords for our own?"

"Measures are in place, Ms. Tanner," the Empress replied, looking over the rim of her coffee mug. Mo raised an eyebrow and the Empress continued. "First, each of our colonies has a specific road map they can follow toward independence. Those include political, social and economic benchmarks; for instance a large teaching hospital, communications and transport networks. Our plans for the planets in the former Republic are fairly similar, the primary difference is that they'll be starting under a military governor and occupation, instead of a system governor and her civilian administration."

"For instance, ma'am?"

Ms. Wayne took another sip of coffee. "One of our colonies starts with scattered sub-colonies, or seedlings, usually a few thousand people in each. This limits the damage in case of natural disaster or a disease outbreak, instead of putting all our eggs in one or two baskets. This also means that everyone knows all their neighbors in a small sub-colony, but there's enough genetic diversity to prevent inbreeding. Several of them have legalized group marriages, primarily due to the presence of rescued slave girls. Knowing everyone means there's a larger support network, an extended family, so to speak, which reduces crime and the hazards of professional politicians. After all, if your representative in the planetary assembly is John the pub owner, they're more likely to listen to you."

"And a military governor and occupation?"

"Is also covered under the Geneva Accords; we do not have a waiver for that part. A recognized civilian government supplants the military government. While there's nothing preventing a Terran-based company from investing, the unions and the planetary government, which represents the Crown also hold seats on the board as part of their business licensing."

"I see ..." Mo said. She took a swallow of coffee, then asked, "Ma'am, I've heard it said that you have dictatorial powers, that ..."

"Is absolutely NOT true!" she replied. "I've heard that before! A dictator has total power, for example Hitler, Stalin, and the isolationist Kim regime in North Korea. The dictionary definition is 'a form of government in which absolute power is concentrated in a dictator or a small clique' or 'a government organization or group in which absolute power is so concentrated'." She took a deep breath, "Sorry. That's a bit of a hot button. No, a dictatorship is those where there is a single political party led by a single powerful individual with a secret police and a highly developed ideology. No, Ms. Tanner, go take a look at the Assembly. Multiple politicians belonging to multiple political parties. My Prime Minister and her Whips need to forge coalitions for every bill to pass ..."

"But you have an over-ride, a twenty percent vote, ma'am."

"Which is intended to break up logjams in the legislative process. You've seen this yourself in the US Congress, where a few politicians, or even just one, decides to block important, necessary legislation such as tax or spending bills just to extract their bit of pork." She shook her head, "No, Ms. Tanner, I have yet to use the Crown's over-ride vote, and I hope I never have to. I mentioned there were multiple political parties on the local, planetary level. In the Assembly, different blocs are coalescing depending on the issue - farm policy here, industrial there, but it is officially nonpartisan. Having members from multiple political parties means there has to be compromise, and extremist politics do not survive in a coalition government. With a fixed number of seats in the Assembly, decided by the free vote, that means the planetary populations have to increase the number of free voters by either freeing slaves or by increasing immigration in order to increase their influence in the Assembly."

"Let's move on, please. Another characteristic of a dictatorship are secret police. While we do have a security service, it is along the lines of the FBI or Scotland Yard. There are no secret police, gulags or cults of personality. I do not have an 'Imperial Party' (she finger-quoted), nor do I require photographs of myself to be hung everywhere; I encourage press criticism." She gestured at a wall, "Over there are some framed copies of political cartoons. They are certainly not kissing my arse, Ms. Tanner."

"Instead, the Empire and I started off as a trade federation, which I prefer. By law, I undergo a yearly physical and psychological evaluation by three separate teams of physicians, and must pass all three. My powers and responsibilities are laid out, very clearly, by the Imperial Constitution, and the Imperial Assembly can initiate both No Confidence votes and impeachment proceedings."

"You mentioned a road map, ma'am."

"Yes. As I said, there are economic, political and physical benchmarks they need to meet. I've mentioned things like an educational system, medical services, as well as a transport and communications network. Political benchmarks are drawn in part from the Copenhagen Criteria, which is part of the European Union's foundation. Those include democracy, the rule of law, human rights and the protection and respect of minorities."

"No, Ms. Tanner, I am not a dictator!"

* * *

"Ma'am, Ms. Delacour has arrived," the intercom squawked. The Empress stood, walking over to her desk, and touched the button. "Thank you, Ellen. I'll be out in a moment." She released it, turning, "Ms. Tanner, are we good, or would you need another session?"

"I'd like a follow-up session, ma'am, but in a week or so."

"Very good. Please call Ellen to schedule, and keep the mug as a souvenir." She walked the journalist to the door, then called, "Ms. Delacour! How nice of you to stop by. I appreciate your taking the time from your busy schedule..."

* * *

" ... the problem is war profiteering, and keeping up both quality and production, Gabrielle," the Empress explained to the Assemblywoman. "While fixed-price contracts help, they don't control all of the problem. For instance, using lower-cost alloys or materials or shorting individual items."

The young Frenchwoman sipped her coffee, "Such as, madame?"

"For instance, in an artillery shell, not using all the explosive filler, cutting it five or ten or fifteen percent, or using thinner steel than specified in the contract. This is especially worrisome since one firm, Denali of South Africa, is the primary ammunition contractor, as well as the prime contractor for our heavy artillery. We need to have flying surprise inspections as well as spot checks at several points in the process, along with the authority to penalize or cancel the contracts and rebid them. Yet if they're meeting specification and have worked out better methods as well, we need to be able to reward them."

"Or if the specification needs revision," Mme. Delacour said, sipping her coffee. "A balanced carrot and stick." She was thinking this over, "This cannot be done quietly."

"No. Publicity helps us to sell this, to let the citizens know they're getting the best value for their taxes, and also that our fighting men and women are getting the best possible product."

"It also helps us politically," Gabrielle said. "Why me?"

"I saw your grilling of my Commerce Minister this afternoon," Mattie replied. "I remembered a history lesson, World War Two and American production. They had similar problems, and put together the Truman Commission to put the Fear of God into their industry. That's what I was thinking - a small, fast-moving committee. Not only to penalize, but also to praise a company. Good public relations all around. However, I believe I must stand apart from this, let the Assembly take the lead."

"Oui, this will be useful for my re-election," Gabrielle smiled. "I will need to include some of your political opponents," she warned. "Possibly some of the Shadow Cabinet (7)."

"All the better. Perhaps a total of five MAs and the committee's support staff."

"Bien. I thought of M. Durand. I shall get in touch with him; see if he's interested..."

* * *

"Ma'am, Lord Black is here."

"Thank you, Ellen, please send him in." The Empress walked to the door just as a young man approached it. "Lord Black! Welcome to Luna and Port Oldridge! How was your flight?"

"So, they got on the train? I know Ginny and Harry were at the station, they emailed me some photos, including some with a big black dog called Snuffles..." Mattie grinned and tossed Sirius an envelope of photos. "That's your set, they've already given a set to Mooney. I wish I could have been there, but my duties here ..." she shrugged.

"Yes, it was bittersweet, but it brought back so many memories ..." The well-dressed man, every inch the pure-blooded aristocrat was silent for a moment, then shook himself. "What can I do for you?"

"Mrs. Cole from the Stockwell Orphanage sent me an email, and I thought of you. First, you may not know this, but I'm their very unofficial sugar momma. I was thinking some of the kids there could use a positive male role model beyond Snuffles..."

"Done!"

"Second point. I could use an undercover operator, and there are three kids there, a brother and two sisters, leaving Stockwell because they're about to turn eighteen. They've got a few strikes (she finger-quoted) against being adopted. They refuse to be separated, they've got a history of fighting and misdemeanor crime, and they're Asian."

"Who the bloody hell cares if they're Asian?"

"I don't! I've met them, they're good, smart kids, but they've had a rotten streak of luck." Sirius took a swallow from his mug of tea, and Ms. Wayne continued. "No, they don't take crap from anyone, and they don't fit the stereotype of proper Asian behavior, so nobody wants to adopt them." She took a swallow of coffee, "I was thinking a Marauder might be interested ..."

"Possibly," he agreed. "I'd want to meet them, though. All of us getting to know one another. Perhaps go to a few footy games..."

She nodded. "Something else. I've talked to them about going into our Merchant Marine Academy, and entrance into the Spacer's Guild. However, they could use a positive male role model, and I could use an undercover operative." She took a swallow of coffee. "I'd like the four of you to consider joining our merchant fleet. If you do, not only will you see the actual conditions on our colony planets, as well as others, but travel by itself is very educational, and you'd be able to skip the first two years of the Academy."

"Yes, I can see that. However, I'm already busy with the Wizengamot, and other activities. I do a lot of traveling." Sirius took a swallow of tea, then leaned forward. "I know you have the Weasley Twins doing research for you, and while I don't know where their facilities are located, the question has arisen about their loyalty. To the UK, to the Queen, and to your Empire."

"Ah," and her green eyes met his grey. She felt a gentle touch on her mind shield, and her gaze touched his own. "I owe the Queen and her government a great deal, and would never come between Her Majesty and her subjects. To the best of my knowledge, the Twins and their wives are loyal British subjects. We have a contractual relationship, with nothing I know the Twins are working on being intended for use against the UK." She sat back, taking up her coffee mug and raising her eyebrow. "Thames House(8)?" she asked.

"Vauxhall Cross(9)," he corrected.

"Ah," she said again. "Such a pity that the double-oh agents like Bond are fictitious. We could use a four-ought system ourselves, as the Imperial Research Service is such a young agency, with such a large territorial remit." She raised her mug, taking a sip of coffee. "For instance, I will reveal that one project of the Weasleys is to expedite the animagus process for our wizard agents. I don't know if it's possible for muggles, with their inherently lesser amount of magic, to transform. Of course, someone like your niece Dora, a metamorphamagus, definitely helps it along. That would seem to follow along some blood lines, and in certain families, wouldn't it, Lord Black?"

He gazed at her calmly over the rim of his mug of tea as his form rippled and shifted into the form of a young woman with a long black braid, wearing a skirted suit. The Empress noted he had touched a ring on his right finger, and raised an eyebrow. The new Lady Black raised her own, and waggled her right fingers. "Glamour macro and transfiguration on each ring, and while I'm not as fast at transforming as Dora is, it is a Black family trait. It's helped me out of a few sticky bits, I can add." She transformed back to her male persona, "I won't ask how you knew, but the Weasleys should be able to implant glamours and triggering runes on rings and various items of clothing."

"Thank you. I'm going to be taking a long weekend next week and traveling back to the UK and Hogwarts. I'll talk to them then; I'm having a wizarding portrait unveiled in the Slytherin portrait gallery."

"I had heard you had dropped out."

She shook her head. "I took my OWLs and GCSE exams, Madame Marchbanks traveled up to Luna to give them, along with a bloke from the muggle Education ministry. I'm taking tutors, and I'm officially on an extended leave of absence from Hogwarts until I can sit my NEWTs and A levels. It's been done before, last time by Her Majesty in the 1940s, when she was Crown Princess and a Hufflepuff. We've tested the portraits, we don't know why they can communicate between Earth and Luna, but they can." She shrugged. "Anyway, we're having to borrow training and talent until we can develop our own. We have a much larger area of responsibility, and multiple ways of thinking are always better than one." Taking a sip of her coffee, she continued, "While our primary training instructors are currently Russian, that does not prevent others. Wouldn't you agree, Lord Black?"

"Indeed, my Lady. I shall see if there is interest."

"Excellent, Lord Black." She took another sip of coffee, "Should you discuss various options with the orphans in question, I shall be happy to provide referrals. I'm sure you know your niece Sprink - Andi's younger daughter?"

He nodded, "Of course."

"I've talked to her. She'll back you from Greywolf Transport. I'd rather this go very back-channel. The three orphans in question have been tested with a wand, but that ..."

"... doesn't matter!"

"Good. Our magic requires a local, planetary gravity field. It won't work in artificial gravity, aboard ships or stations, so if you become Snuffles, you'd be stuck like that." He nodded. "Part of the first two years at the Academy is physical conditioning and learning to fight, and that includes with a blade."

He thought for a minute, "I confess, I've never been aboard a starship."

"The new Chinese Federation has a school ship, the MV _Zheng He_. She's a Freedom Class I ship, and that series is the only one able to planet and lift off again. She uses English, Mandarin and Trade, so you'll probably need translator implants, and hip implants. Left female, right male. They have legal, financial and criminal histories. Outpatient surgeries. Your cousin Cissie is my physician-of-record, she can take care of that for you, or Bella at Hogwarts."

"Cissy's here?"

"Yes, her card's in your envelope of photos, as is mine." She raised a finger, "That includes my very private, confidential mobile numbers and email addresses. You HAVE used a computer before?"

"Yes, but I'm not very fast." He raised both index fingers and waggled his thumbs.

"Training and practice. After all, my spell-casting still sucks," and Sirius barked a laugh.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, September 16, 2003: 07:45 (UTC)  
Terra, Hogwarts, First year history class:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Good morning, everyone, and welcome back to History class," Remus said as he glanced around the room, taking roll. Erika squirmed happily in her seat, she thought the tall, slightly worn-looking instructor was very cute, and she wouldn't mind at all if he took her. He flipped the folder closed, and started in. "Now then. We're going to be continuing with our study of the early Middle Ages "

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, September 16, 2003: 09:58 (UTC)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Classroom 23 (ICC):  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The third-year platoon entered the classroom and dropped their bags at the back, taking place in sections by house, standing at ease. "A-ten-SHUN!" The students quit talking, standing upright, chin up, chest out, shoulders back, stomach in, with their arms fixed at the side, thumb or middle finger parallel to their pant seam, eyes front and with their heels together, feet 45 degrees apart.

"Very good," Major Payne said as he inspected them. "Very good. Some of the other years might take instruction from you. I also note that several of you are starting to increase your runs. I am pleased, then, to introduce you to weapons practice." There were several grins that the Major decided to ignore. This time. "We will be using rifles and pistols chambered in twenty-two Long Rifle. Due to Scottish and British laws, these are strictly controlled, although you may come in after hours and on weekends to use these on the range. These are not toys. They are lethal weapons that can kill, similar to a piercing hex. They will easily penetrate a half-inch pine board, and your tender flesh is not nearly that tough." He regarded them, then waved his hand toward a door. "Red section, through the door with Leftenent Fitzroy. Take places at the first table; you will field-strip the pistol before advancing to the loading table."

"Line up the centre X of the target over the sights, then gently squeeze the trigger, it should come as a bit of a surprise," Lt. Fitzroy said as he watched over Ami's shoulder. The gun barked, and she jumped. "Excellent! Nine more, then change targets and magazines. Fifty rounds total, then lay the weapon on the bench, pointing down-range. Once everyone's finished, we'll show you how to tot up your points, and then you can clean the weapon and off to lunch."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, September 16, 2003: 10:22 (relative)  
Foley, Island of Phips, Town of Phips:  
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Cee'nan swallowed nervously. He was now a slave girl, ordered to distribute these papers to the pirates and slavers she had once worked with. Now, after her bio-sculpt, she had green hair, large breasts, and a small waist; she was collared, Enhanced, and shackled, riveted on like any other slave girl. She wore a plastic plate over the top of her breasts with samples of the new coins and bills, connected to a ring on her neck and attached to her nipple rings. She and a few others like her were walking through the town, handing out papers describing the new policy soon, the standard currency would change, the only legally allowed would be what the Terrans were using.

"Pardon this slave, my masters," and she knelt when the current males regarded her. She knew the proper behavior of a slave girl, having trained thousands of them when she had been male, and a slaver herself. Now "My masters, this slave is to distribute these papers. There is both a new street plan and a currency change (she touched the plastic plate), and this slave's owners wished these papers distributed to inform my masters." She flushed with humiliation, but kept her head down.

"I see," one young master said, pulling her to her feet with a nipple chain. She gave a brief gasp of pain, and one of the young masters glanced over at one of the armed Terrans who was watching. "These are the new currency?"

"Yes, my master," the slave replied. "My masters have until the end of ten local days to exchange chips for these, at a one-to-one rate. After that, chips will not be accepted, my masters. The papers give the information, my masters." She offered a sheet to one of the young males.

"You wear Slaver's Guild tattoos," one of the young males said, drawing a circle around them on her right shoulder with a fingertip. "Yet you're a collared slave. Explain this."

"My master, this slave was once free, and male, and a member of the Guild," she replied, trembling in fear. "This slave, when male, attacked a Terran, and was given the choice between death and a collar, my masters." She tried to sink to her knees again, but was kept on her feet by a finger under her chin. "My masters?" She yelped as she was roughly fondled, a hand exploring her new female parts and her slave belt while another caressed the slave brands on her left thigh.

"Are you for sale, slave? I like your hair color, it is unusual."

"Thank you, my master. This slave does not know if this slave is for sale, my masters," she replied.

"Restrict," and the slave, forced by her Enhancement, dropped her papers as she snapped her hands behind her, cuffing herself as she knelt in the Inspection position. The young males above her chuckled, one saying "Release, slave. Remain on your knees and service us. If you bite, you will be punished."

"Yes, my masters," the former slaver, now a frightened, kneeling slave girl replied. She reached up to unfasten his pants with her teeth, and he took a half-step back, forcing her to lean forward as she stretched. The young males laughed again.

A Terran stepped forward, "Enjoy yourselves. Play with the slave, but remember, any blood or damage to her we'll take out of you," he warned. "She does have a job to do, so don't take all day."

"We'll teach her to enjoy her collar," one of the young males replied.

* * *

Sarah Silverman watched as her partner Charlie Rundell stepped away from a group of half-a-dozen young punks that surrounded a green-haired barbie they had stopped in the street. They would step in if the youths caused damage to the slave, but would otherwise let her be treated like any other slave girl. Behind them, other infantry was deployed in a security patrol, backed by combat cars and gun trucks, and further back, a pair of Leopard V tanks. Work parties of blue barbies moved down the street, bolting new street signs on to the walls of buildings or installing three-meter high sign poles, and placing large, low planters with quick-grow Irontip hedges to block off the ends of alleys.

Phips was a coastal town that had grown without a plan during its history, and there was no formal zoning, and no formal street names, the locals referring to local landmarks, such as particular bars. The Terran plan included formal street names, house numbers and zoning, with the curving waterfront road being called that: 'Waterfront Road', and then the longest and easternmost continuous north-south street being called 'Common Road'; (moving west) the next north-south road 'First Road', 'Second Road' and so forth. East-west streets started to the extreme southeast, at the intersection of Waterfront and the Terran military base's perimeter wall, thus 'Perimeter Street', and then going north with '1st Street', '2nd Street' and so forth.

The last of the young punks had wandered off, laughing at the humiliation of the green-haired slave girl. She knelt in the dirt, hair and face layered with their biological 'output', head down, the ream of papers near her in the dirt. Sarah moved to her, "Belly. Ankles up."

"Yes, my mistress. This slave obeys," the girl said as Sarah ran a chain between her ankle shackles.

"Back on your heels, head back. I'm going to wash your eyes and face," Sarah continued as she assisted the girl into place. Cracking open a bottle of water, she poured it over the girl's head, and then asked, "How do you feel?"

"This slave this slave feels helpless, and humiliated, and angry. Very angry, my mistress," the green barbie replied, unable to lie with her Enhancement. Her fists clenched behind her in her cuffs as she knelt in the street's dirt, knees wide. Sarah leaned her forward, unlocking her wrists from behind her. "Pick up your papers and resume your tasks."

"Yes, my mistress. This slave obeys." The green-haired barbie started to collect the scattered papers, when Charlie Rundell said, "Wait. On your feet first, then bend over to collect them. Be sexy. You're an attractive slave girl show it."

"Yes, my master," the girl replied as she obeyed.

"Think we should step in?" Sarah asked as a group of the local slave girls surrounded and tormented the green-haired barbie.

"Na, let them vent," Charlie said. "It's good, as long as they don't get physical."

"Good? I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that."

"Payback's a bitch, ain't it?"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, September 17, 2003: 04:38 (ACST:UTC +9:30)  
Terra, Northern Territory, Camp Katherine, holodeck 22:  
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Susan Bones stood in the control room for holodeck 22, watching as one of her slave girls lay under a camouflage sheet. She had seen her girls training, and on the rifle range, and this girl consistently got head shots with the sniper rifle, out to the limits of the range. She was justifiably proud of the girls, who after this would be reverted to their 'slave' personas, then shipped off-planet to a slave house on Tosul. This would help build their covers as they were trained in things like slave dance and sexual service, things not possible here on Terra. After that, they would be collected and shipped out to their destination, where they would help to organize the slave wars of liberation.

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Wednesday, September 17, 2003: 12:02 (EDT:UTC -5)  
Terra, Cleveland Municipal Building:  
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"I got a letter from my daughter," Irene said as she stirred the Tupperware bowl of soup as she waited for a microwave. She didn't mention how her son, Josh, was now her daughter, Joss, a collared slave girl. Nor did she mention receiving photos of them in their Army uniforms. Joss made an attractive, if busty, girl

"Kathy's in armor, I believe you said, and Josh is Special Forces?"

"Yes, a FIST unit. That's a Forward Infantry Support Team. They go behind enemy lines for sniping, intelligence, lasing targets, air and artillery observing, while Kathy's being cross-trained on different vehicles besides her Leopard V tank." A microwave dinged, and she waited, moving up in line.

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Friday, September 19, 2003: 10:25 (AEST:UTC +10)  
Terra, Queensland, Julia Creek Camp D:  
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John Fishburne looked up as a buzzer sounded, and a light changed over a door. "Number twenty-eight. Through the door, please." He returned to his magazine as one of the PoWs went through the door. This was a simple, though boring job as his leg injury healed.

Like many things, animate-to-inanimate transfiguration can be automated. Dii'gan was hit by a stunner from an industrial wand, and as he fell, a small tractor beam caught him, turned him, and placed him on a gurney. A laser scanned his capture collar, recording his bar-coded number as the powered gurney followed an automated path. Dii'gan was stripped by another industrial wand, disintegrating his clothing, while another transfigured him into a brick. A label with his bar-coded ID number was attached to the brick, which was added to an aluminum pallet. Other pallets were already shrink-wrapped and stored under stasis fields in a warehouse, where they would later be transferred to the prison planet.

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Tuesday, September 23, 2003: 10:42 (relative)  
Foley, Island of Phips, Town of Phips:  
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Cee'nan the green-haired slave girl walked down the line of masters, carrying the heavy insulated cooler of water bottles. She didn't have a choice, it had been chained to her, and she responded to a wave, hurrying over to a master, ducking her head and handing him a cold bottle.

"How much longer must I wait, slave?" one master demanded as he took a bottle.

"This slave does not know, my master. This is the last day for legal exchange of chips for the Terran currency, the other days were not as busy, my master."

The young master grumbled and waved her off. She looked around, "My masters, may this slave speak freely?"

"In order to amuse us while we wait, slave," one said.

"My masters, it has been remarked that this slave wears Slaver's Guild tattoos."

"I can see that, slave. Continue."

"Yes, my masters. This slave was bio-sculpted, collared and Enhanced as a slave, as the Terrans wished this slave and other slaves to recall and regret this slave's actions as a slaver." She handed out a bottle of water or two as the group shuffled forward in queue. She tossed her hair back, "This slave was forced down the Spiral, my masters. This slave was, and remains, loyal to the Guild, even though this slave now wears a collar. This slave wishes for a way, a chance, to strike back at this slave's masters, the Terrans."

"And if you are sold, slave?"

"This slave has discovered, my masters, that the Terrans do not participate in the slave trade." She waited out the surprised reaction. "Instead, my masters, the blue and green haired slaves are all former Guild members, former slavers, used as a warning to my masters." She ran a hand through her now-green hair, "This slave may now be a female slave, but this slave wants revenge against this slave's Terran masters, my masters."

The men looked at each other, then one of them said, "Go. Attend to your duties, slave. We shall speak later. Meet us at (he unfolded a copy of the new town map) Common and Fifth, in front of the large meeting hall. Tonight, at the fifteenth hour. "

"Yes, my masters. This slave will miss check-in, but will obey."

As the green-haired slave moved off, one of the slavers said, "Arrogant slave. She needs to be beaten."

"She will be, which will fix together my plan," the leader said. "Not only will she be reminded of her collar, she will serve as an example for the other blue and green haired slaves, to remember their own collars. It will also place a spy into the ranks of the Terrans, more if she can recruit other slaves. That will lessen the frequency and length of her beatings, and we may be able to convince the Terrans to sell those slaves to us."

There was an evil laugh, but one slaver gestured, "I enjoy the proper discipline of a slave as much as the next, but how do we know the Terrans will not trace this back to us? I do not wish to follow her example, and become a collared animal."

"She will wear a gag, blindfold and hood for her beating. She will not know who is providing that discipline, and we shall let the Terrans find her in the morning. While she is undergoing medical treatment, she can listen while she is confined on a treatment rack, and when she is returned to the slave cells. When she is put back on the streets the next day, possibly as a coin girl(10) (there were snickers), we can then interrogate her and her sisters on what she has learned."

Another slaver nodded, "Good. Over time we shall build up a nice little network among the animals."

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Tuesday, September 23, 2003: 14:34 (relative)  
Foley, Island of Phips, Town of Phips:  
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Cee'nan the green-haired slave girl hurried toward her meeting with her master. Her hands had been cuffed behind her, she still wore the heavy insulated cooler, it was chained to her body under her new, full breasts. She paused, and moved forward at the wave of her use-master. "Over here, slave."

"Yes, my master. This slave obeys," she replied, wondering why her master was standing in the shadows. She knelt, and he said, "Restrict. Vision off, voice off. High kneel." She obeyed; she didn't have a choice as an Enhanced slave. She felt her master unlock the cooler from her body, and then he said, "Mouth open, head back," and gagged her, strapping a blindfold on and then hooding her. Her master said, "The slave's ready. Take her," and she was spun about, then lead on a round-about walk through the town, so she did not know where she was. "Release, voice on. Up here, slave," and she was lead up a platform, her ankle shackles linked together, then her wrists released from her belt, twisted and bound above her. She was stretched tight, and then a steel frame was locked over her thighs. She recognized it, she had placed it on slaves when she had been male, and a slaver herself. She struggled, her head and hair held down by her arms.

"You know what this is. You are to watch, and listen, and find out who among the other slaves are sympathetic to us, and the Guild. The Terrans are not allowing us to leave this system and spread the word about them, which means we must find a way to survive. They intend us to work like slaves, a mortal insult. However, they are sympathetic to you slaves, you animals, and hold all of you under very loose discipline." She nodded and whimpered once. "You will discover what their plans are, remember what they discuss before you animals, and return to our meeting place to inform us."

She nodded and whimpered again, and he continued. "Slave, you have been of use to us, and our punishment for your arrogance will therefore be light. Pull her tight," and the ratchet clicked again as it tightened. Her joints popped, and he said "Proceed." She felt heat as she was branded. She screamed into her gag, and the branding frame was released. "Now, slave, as you have insulted free persons by thinking you were still a member of the Slaver's Guild, you must be punished. You will be beaten by each of us, starting with myself." She heard the soft rustle of a slave whip being unfolded, and then her back exploded in pain.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, September 24, 2003: 08:28 (UTC)  
Hour 520.28/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, HIM offices:  
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The Tsaritsa turned, "Next up, Heinrike. What is the status of shipbuilding and Soba White?"

The three-star general and Minister of War shrugged. "We have been primarily oriented on the lighter combatants. Rejuvs are primarily going into the Navy and Merchant Services, followed by the Marines. The Army is catching most of the volunteers and conscripts. We anticipate having enough for the single planet of Melotte, and the dual planet Argus system on the planned date."

Mr. Kim asked, "Argus?"

"Ja," Heinrike replied. She connected a dataplaq to the holo projector, scrolling down to the correct directory and selecting a file. "The Argusian system. The star is a F5, so it is quite a bit larger than Sol, with a larger habitable zone. The FTL limit is 24.2 light minutes, and it has two habitable planets, Argusia and Dias. Argusia is the fifth planet out, a fertile planet of islands in relatively shallow seas, 1.5 times the landmass of Earth though only 1.09 times the gravity, with an average temperature of 23 Celsius. Their exports are electronics and the produce from their large fish farms."

Heinrike paged forward from the planetary map. "The planetary governor is Alrik Corase (she showed a photo). Argusia is considered the most liberal planet in the Republic, and Corase is liberal for his society. There is a hereditary nobility, compromising one percent of the population, nine percent free, which are the middle managers and entrepreneurial class, sixty percent slave, all female, and a thirty percent 'serf' class (she finger-quoted), who are male and not considered slaves, but are more akin to indentured servants and debt bondage. However, they are still collared, only not Enhanced. This status can be passed down, with the sons inheriting the father's debt. A political faction considers slavery of males against the Source, which is why the serfs are not called slaves and are not Enhanced like the females. Due to the warm temperatures and planetary law, all serfs and slaves are kept naked, with the exception of necessary protective clothing. One other social factor is the inclusion of 'mermaids', genetically engineered slaves imported from Eta Orionis, the home world of WorkForce and used to maintain the fish farms. Those farms are extensive, fenced plastic cages placed between islands; a hundred meters deep and kilometers on a side."

She changed to an orbital map, "The capital city and primary star port is here, Port Sunshine, on the largest island, Bourne. The manufacturing is also here. While there are roads on the islands, inter-island transportation infrastructure is generally small boats and freighters between the various islands. Each island also has small STOL airports. This island (one blinked in a red circle) is the planetary prison, Saltaire, where prison labor is used to mine sea salt used in fish preservation. Economically, the planet imports the slave gruel consumed by the slaves and serfs. The majority of the foodstuffs consumed by free and the aristocracy are also imported." She gave a small smile, "It's not socially acceptable for the upper class to eat local food, and while there are some food reserves, they are strictly short-term, designed for disaster relief, such as hurricanes and the like."

"Looks like a nice planet," Lady Sarah commented.

"Ja. We anticipate the tourist and conference trade to be impressive." She changed to a planetary map, "We believe we can use schnellboats, small gunboats as a brown or green-water type maritime force along with helicopters landing air-mobile forces. However, with the nets for the fish farms buoyed just above the surface, we have to use a shallow draft and pump-jets to avoid fouling. The Israelis among others have their Dvora class boats."

"Brown water? Green Water?"

"Brown water refers to a river or littoral maritime force, while green water refers to a coastal force. Brown water navy is an American term, examples would be their gunboats in the Vietnam war. A green water navy is a coastal navy, one within air cover from land. A few hundred kilometers. Examples would be the Australian and Korean navies. A blue water navy is one designed for the open ocean, such as the US or Soviet Navy or the British Royal Navy, with strategic assets, like aircraft carriers and nuclear submarines." She took a sip from her mug. "To use a metaphor, we are forcing a transition of our forces from a brown water navy to a blue water navy, using it to project power in assaulting these enemy star systems. It is as if ... (she waved her hand) the Indian ... no, the Philippine Navy were to counter-attack the Soviet Navy."

"The Soviets are now the Russians," Lady Sarah commented.

"Ja, and they have fallen far. Even at the top of their power, they were not the equal of the US or Royal Navies, primarily due to their personnel's motivation and in-service availability." Heinrike raised a finger, "By using conscripts we face some of the same dangers, but we do not have much of a choice, unless we decide to abandon two thirds of our colony planets and consolidate. In that forced transition, we will face numerous problems; we have expanded too quickly, in my opinion, and we must grow our economy and population to match."

"Unfortunately, as you said, we don't have much of a choice," the Empress commented. "We'll come back to the economy in a minute. Anything more about Argusia?"

"One other thing. The fish are up to thirty meters, although most are harvested when they're only ten meters. As far as predators, that's one reason for the mooring of the nets. There is a large predator that has been hunted for sport that's up to a hundred meters long, like a very large shark."

General von Hesse continued, "Dias. Dias is a colony planet of Argusia, and is just inside the habitable zone and eighty percent the size of Earth. It was colonized twenty-one hundred years ago while the Argusians were still non-FTL. It is an arid planet, with an average temperature of 32 Celsius, so it is a bit like Mars, only considerably warmer. They still consider themselves a colony planet, and are even more liberal than Argusia, with up to sixty-five percent free population, although still an aristocracy in the star port and capital city of Bredda. Exports are electronics, fungal-based wines and spirits and pharmaceuticals, although their primary industry is conventions and tourism for the local sub-sector. Think Las Vegas." She changed slides, "Roughly 1900 years ago, the Argusian system was attacked and occupied by the Republic. Their existing Royals were tortured to death, their young girls and women were publicly enslaved as a celebration of their first victory over another system."

She changed slides again. "Our current assault plan is to implement the blockade inside the FTL limit, while also seizing the two planets' orbitals and the satellites there. The Argusia system is not on a primary trade route, and has a small out-system station for traffic control and system guard. We will take this isolated station and hopefully prevent news of our operations from getting back to Aeeloh and the Republic." She changed slides again, "This is our proposed TO & E. Argusia is vulnerable because of their reliance on imported foods, and they have primary reliance on beamed power from satellites. The receiving antennae are afloat, buoyed in shallow bays and between the larger islands, with underwater data and power cables to the local islands. This is easier for them to secure, and gives us fewer objectives to capture. However, there has never been a true electric grid. Their fresh water supply is from desalinization, which is energy-intensive. Their particular system relies on reverse osmosis, which uses replaceable, disposable filters. Imported filters, and the fresh water is pumped through pipelines between islands, the same distribution network as power and data."

"Sewerage?" Mr. Kim asked.

"Minimally treated and either injected into wells or dumped into the sea. One of the things we have on our lists to upgrade." She changed slides, "Argusia has a customs station in orbit, as does Dias. However, Dias is more concentrated, only a few hundred kilometers across for the capital city of Bredda. Intelligence (she nodded to Lady Sarah) has identified most of the critical buildings in each relevant city. We will use Marines in each system for taking ships and the various stations, with a carrier for fighter cover and our command ship. Once that is done, frigate squadrons will assume those duties as well as implement the blockades on all three planets. They will be backed by cruiser squadrons. Once we have command of each system, we can maintain the blockades for extended periods to break the planetary leadership and to prepare for the assaults on the planets themselves."

The Empress leaned forward, "What do we need to take the planets?"

"We can do orbital drops, to seize key points on-planet such as government facilities, communication, power and desalinization plants or the star ports. I would not do this on Argusia, as we don't have the ability to drop these troops precisely where we want them; too many would wind up in the ocean. This is the same reason paratroops were not used in the American island-hopping campaign in the second war. For additional headaches to the enemy regimes, we will insert Special Forces units for intelligence work and to foment slave uprisings before we perform a military coup or other regime change." She raised a finger, "We must also prevent a counter-insurgency against our new regime. This means removing the social and economic restrictions the previous underclass, especially the slaves, suffered under. They must be a part of the new social system, because if they are not, it will be too easy for them to be recruited and work for their former masters."

The Empress nodded. "Good. What about Melotte?"

The General changed her displays. "Melotte system is only one hundred fifty light years away, in the Hyades star cluster; one of one hundred thirty one inhabited planets. It's one of the Republic's trade ports, and has a G2 star with minimal axial tilt. Therefore it has very mild seasons with a year-round growing season. Geography has one main continent, with island chains and two large mountain ranges. There are lush valleys, with the primary exports being wine and other associated beverages." She changed the display again. "The capital, Melotte City is here, in the central, southern lowlands." She called up a map. "You can see there are multiple rivers and canals, which are used for political boundaries. The central business and government district, to the east, between these rivers is an exclusive residential district, to the south and west in these areas are the spaceport and the water ports, the industrial and commercial districts including the power and communication facilities. To the northwest and northeast are the middle class suburbs; the city has a comprehensive public transit system. Private passenger vehicles are rare and expensive, as they are off-world imports, and seen as status symbols. Commercial vehicles are more common, but are restricted in operation to slaves and certain hours."

"That's unusual," Mr. Kim said.

"With slaves, you can operate a plant around the clock. Commerce is seen as something a free person doesn't soil their hands with. Even the 'middle class' (she finger-quoted), free persons are administrative, only coming in to keep an eye on the books and sign documents. On the shop floor, work shifts are run by first through third girls, ranking above the common slaves."

"So how do we take Melotte?"

"Once again, we take advantage of corruption and the underground economy. We have established safe houses and utilize the existing courier and transport networks, while our agents establish intelligence networks, action teams, along with encouraging passive resistance and sabotage. They are recruiting slaves for urban guerrilla warfare, using Mao's 'five minute battle' tactics."

Ms. Wayne held up a finger, "Excuse me. What is a 'five minute battle'?"

"The entire action takes only five minutes. For instance, in narrow, winding streets, such as are on a majority of Republican planets, a military convoy will be blocked, attacked and the material raided, with the attackers withdrawing to safe houses. This means that our forces conduct a series of hit-and-run raids, and when the enemy troops are killed, this will adversely effect the enemy morale - the enemy forces are not soldiers, but thugs. They are not used to their victims fighting back, and if they know going on certain types of assignments means they would be brutally killed, they will not want to go. This also means that the enemy provides logistic support, we would provide specialized support and training to local guerrilla cells."

"Please expand on this, and what if our forces are captured?"

"Our Special Forces teams are organized into five person 'hands' of our supposed slave girls. Let's take that convoy attack as an example, as it's one that I know they've trained on." Heads nodded around the table as the General continued. "One of the criteria for these initial teams was the ability to perform magic, with which they have been trained."

"They can't have received five years worth of training in just a few weeks!" the Empress objected.

"No, but they have received the most useful parts of that training - particular spells and whatnot. To continue, we will assume that our intelligence provided the timing, composition and route of a particular supply convoy." She raised a finger, "I know this is an optimal situation, but people like to stick to a schedule and plan of what works, and this is only an example. To continue, the convoy is escorted by two or three hover tanks. We have captured several dozen of these, intended to be used against us, as were the larger, more expensive grav tanks."

She waved her hand, and took a swallow from her mug. "We have tested these, and their reputation is greater than their actual capabilities. To continue, we have two of our 'hands' take these hover tanks out with RPGs. These are usually the point and trail elements. Once these are on fire and out of action, the grenadier of each hand disappears back to their safe house to remove any physical evidence while the ground based hands, along with any local slave hands, attack the trucks, search for and secure any enemy personnel, and raid the trucks for weapons, ammunition, and other supplies. Those are set aside while our personnel kill the enemy. The psychological effect we are looking for here is two-fold. One, to build up our own personnel's morale, in particular the slave girls, by showing that the enemy is mortal and can be defeated. They are not super-human, nor are they untouchable gods. The second is the reverse, on the enemy, to destroy that arrogance and tear down their self-confidence and morale. Even if news of the attacks are not released to the general public, the rumor mill will distribute the news, no doubt inflating the actual information. This will rattle the slave owners and run rampant through the slave population, especially if we catch all of the enemy troops and escape with no casualties of our own. This is likely for at least the first few attacks. If the enemy troops are killed in particularly horrific ways, especially the officers and the commander, the news will get out to the enemy, and they will not want to go on these missions, seeing them as suicide."

"And if our people are captured?" Mr. Kim asked.

"That is possible, especially the local girls. With our own girls, it is unlikely. Even if they are captured, they have methods of suicide. Let me explain with a time line. The raid I have discussed is concluded, the ground teams place transport disks on each crate, which the local girls are touching. It moves all of them to a central point, where they would then take further transport to a secondary location, from where they disperse to their homes or shops. They would not know where the central point is, and if they are captured and forced to reveal the locations of those secondary locations, those can be easily replaced by new locations. Therefore, if one of the local girls foolishly brags about being on a raid, and this information gets to the enemy regime, all she can reveal is the secondary location, and possibly who some of her mates were on the raid."

General von Hesse took another swallow of coffee. "Once the local girls have left, our girls would distribute the cargo into secondary supply caches. The same local girls would not be used on all missions, they would rotate among various teams. They would also not attack some convoys; we might attack the first, fifth, seventh and fourteenth convoys in a particular month, or leave particular destinations untouched. This would confuse the enemy, who would be looking for common elements. We might take clothing or rations and leave weapons and ammunition, or only take a particular type of ammunition, again to confuse the enemy. Our girls would operate out of dispersed, secondary bases, which can quickly and easily be abandoned. Beyond that, our girls would live like any other slave, hiding in the millions of other slave girls."

Ms. Wayne raised a finger, "What about the collar transmitters? The enemy would know who, where, and when slaves were, even if they're not caught in the act."

"True," Lady Sarah put in. "However, those transmitters operate on certain frequencies, which can be blocked. We have several garments made with metallic threads that act as Faraday cages which we have tested. These range from collar sleeves "

"Collar sleeves?"

"Used by courier and messenger slaves. They are created from a metallic cloth and lock around the slave's collar. Normally, they contain paperwork for shipments, things like that, only ours are designed to block those transmitter frequencies. The slave is still identifiable at checkpoints by her hip implants, so even if one of our girls is stopped at a checkpoint, she's only another slave girl, doing what her master wants." The others in the Cabinet nodded. "Our girls are further disguised on a mission by a thigh-length concealing cover, like a short burqa, with a mesh eye-slit they would wear over the Faraday cage. For instance, a long scarf. Wrapped around a girl's collar, it's a Faraday cage, while on its own and around the waist, it's a slave garment. They are inexpensive enough to manufacture that they can be disposed as needed."

"Drawbacks to this approach? Worst case? Why don't we do an immediate attack from orbit?"

"Several reasons," the General replied. "Psychologically, we want the slaves to feel they have participated in the regime change, that they have 'skin in the game' (she finger-quoted again), as my grand-daughter says. This makes them an active participant. Second, this will help to destabilize the existing regime and the economy."

The general took a swallow from her mug. "We must assume that the existing regime will have intelligence operations against a slave uprising, possibly covered as slaves. Therefore, because there will be enemy survivors from the five minute battles, the enemy will almost certainly enforce massive reprisals against the slave population. In addition, any enemy survivors may be able to identify specific slaves, who will be confiscated from their owners and publicly tortured." She shrugged, "This is unavoidable in a guerrilla war, as is collateral damage. We must be able to hide our operatives in amongst the general slave population, as any reprisals will almost certainly include innocent parties. By using the Faraday wraps and the burqa, they're disguised. Even if a slave is recognized, they will only capture her, who cannot identify her hand's leader or any other participant. This capture, which the girl is unlikely to survive, lets our propaganda make them martyrs. When the Planetary Guard forces start wholesale torture and murder of slaves, this will also effect industrial and commercial activity. The oligarchies themselves will bring a halt to this, as it will affect their businesses. Combined with the blockades and the slave insurrection and general chaos, we perform an attack from orbit and a military coup."

She raised a finger, "We must, must, include members of the slave class in the new regime. If we do not, we will touch off an insurrection against our new regime; one that we have trained. This includes any Terran - based firms who we bring in. They must include qualified former slaves in management and any trade unions; their management cannot be exclusively Terran. That has started bush wars in Africa, where foreign firms have established large facilities."

"And that seems to be a natural lead-in to you, Mr. Kim. What about Commerce?"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, September 26, 2003: 12:48 (UTC)  
Hour 571.48/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, HIM offices:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Ms. Mattie Wayne, Queen of the Terran Empire, closed the last file on her computer, and shut it down. Looking around her office, she asked, "Crystal? You about ready for a long weekend?"

Her bodyguard stood and stretched. "Oh, yes, ma'am. Nice to get back to London for a change."

Mattie nodded. "No arguments there." She tapped her intercom, "Ellen, we're finished for the weekend here. Sorry you had to stay a little late to finish up."

The door to the outer office opened, "Of course you are, ma'am." She extended and waggled her foot, wearing not her normal skirted suit and red heels, but a pair of red high-top sneakers, blue jeans and a football jersey instead. "The security people have done their bit, I've just to grab my bags and I'm on the tram. Have a good weekend, and a safe flight. I'll see you Tuesday morning."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, September 27, 2003: 07:54 (UTC)  
Terra, London, Greywolf Transport:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Tracey Davis stepped out of the lift as it 'dinged', her visitor's badge bouncing on the lanyard with each step. Once again she cursed the awkward high-heeled shoes that muggle women seemed to adore, instead of proper flat-heeled shoes or boots. The skirted suit was all right, but she felt somewhat undressed without a proper witch's robe on. At least strong cushioning charms made the shoes comfortable. She consulted a sheet of paper taped over the floor directory; there was a lot of construction work going on with the building; departments were moving about.

She was a petite, compact and muscular girl, with a light chocolate complexion inherited from her muggle pa. Being a half-blood in Slytherin during Voldemort's second rise had been difficult, which explained why she hadn't been able to find good work in the wizarding world, and also why she was currently working as a clerk in a muggle bookstore; despite her competition with Granger for the two top academic spots in their Hogwarts cohort. They had only been a few points apart, her taking some classes' top spot while Granger took others. The others in their cohort, with the exception of Potter in DADA, had been left in their dust. As it was, Granger had gone on to achieve her Potions Mastery, while Tracey was about to finish her own in Arithmancy, as well as her degree at Cambridge.

Finding the right room, she strode down the hallway, checking her pocket watch. It had been her grandpa's, and while it wasn't exactly feminine, she detested the tiny faces of women's watches. Opening the door with a few minutes yet to go, she nodded, "Tonks." She kept her surprise hidden at the other young woman's presence. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Davis," Sprink replied, standing. "My married name is Adams, although I'm continuing to use Tonks." She nodded toward the three teenagers, "This is Ming Stockwell and his sisters, Yue and Te. They were referred to me by Lord Black, who's their sponsor." She gestured at the other woman, "You know her?"

"That you can recognize me means I need to work on my glamour. Sorry. Call me 'O', please."

"Not double-ought something? Nothing wrong with your glamour, I've always been able to see through them. I'm Tracey Davis," she introduced herself, and everyone took seats as Tonks got the meeting started. "Well now, Ms. O represents an off-world intelligence agency."

Ms. O nodded. "Specifically, the Empire's IRS. Imperial Research Service. Our official remit is compiling astrographic data and cross-referencing it against Oan star charts and planetary data, some of which is thousands or millions of years old, incomplete, or simply non-existent. As I'm sure you can see, that also provides a good cover for intelligence work on those planets, which is on the grey side of the agency." She took a sip from her mug of tea, looking at the three siblings. "Lord Black has authorized me to reveal his own work with MI-6. If the three of you are agreeable, we will accept you, and while you undergo spacer's training with the cover of Greywolf on board the school ship MV Zheng He. She's a Freedom Class I ship, and that series can planet and lift off again. That training will be totally legitimate, you will have the appropriate Spacer's Guild tattoos. However, you will also be trained by us for running agents and cargoes into and out of various planets."

Ming raised a hand, "Ma'am, you mentioned this is the 'grey' side. What's the black side? Wet work?"

"No comment," Ms. O replied. "We operate on need-to-know, and you don't. All security and intelligence agencies are very compartmented. For instance, while I know there are invasion plans for each of the different enemy planets in the Republic, I have no idea what they are; not even their code name. While I have a high general clearance level, that does not mean I'm read into those plans, except where they would impinge on my agency. Even the Empress doesn't know - she doesn't have that need-to-know, and she's famous for keeping her lips zipped on what she does know."

Ms. Tonks took over. "As far as where the three of you stand, Lord Black is standing as your sponsor for the Imperial Merchant Marine Academy. That's in Hong Kong, and the next class will be starting October first. Sorry for the short time frame for your decision, it's only a few days. Hong Kong is the dirt side school, simulators, classrooms and so forth. Hong Kong can be a rough town, as are some of the out-world star ports, so you'll be trained in martial arts, the spike, knife and sword fighting, as well as sidearms."

"It sounds like military training," Te said, pulling her long, straight black hair back.

"The instructors are former military," Ms. Tonks replied. "Remember, we want to keep our use of magic secret (she glanced around the table), because zarroji, magic users, are mythical beings. We don't want to let people know they're real, so you hide wands. We'll issue you a spike, which is a long, sharp, thin tool spacers use. However, ours also has a magical core, so you can use it to cast with. A ground school class will cover that."

Ms. O commented, "As for you, Ms. Davis, your finals are in December?" Tracey nodded, and Ms. O continued, "In January, then, after the Christmas hols, you'll have your maths degree from Cambridge, and will be offered a position for Ops officer training. This includes navigation, what off-worlders call the Astrogator position. We try to place witches and wizards into those slots, or Communications, as there is some very secret equipment that allows us to communicate in Fold Space."

"Fold Space?" Tracey asked.

"Seven dimensional space, where we travel faster than light," Ms. Tonks replied. "I don't have the faintest bloody clue as to how it works, either the drives or the comms. However, our ability to communicate in real time across subspace is one of our major advantages. We also have a new drive type that a girl from the Yank school MIT came up with. We've been installing both the older Jump drive and this new drive, which is hugely faster, like seven or eight times faster than the Jump."

"Another advantage of ours," Ms. O put in. "As an navigator, you plot out the course from 'A' to 'E' with way-points 'B', 'C', and 'D'. The course plot may look like a strand of spaghetti, but that's normal. You lock it in to the ship's helm, as comm officer you upload and download mail and messages, and as ops officer you do scheduling and such during the trip. You would concentrate on different things at different times, of course."

"Of course," Tracey said slowly. She tapped a pen on the table as she thought. "I would go to Hong Kong? Who would be my sponsor?"

"The Empress, but don't let that get around," Ms. Tonks replied. "Slytherin Solidarity."

"Slytherin Solidarity. I'm in," Tracey agreed. "After Hong Kong, then we go through your training, Ms. O?"

"You would. The time you're in training with Greywolf and the Spacer's Guild allows us to do thorough background checks on all four of you and set up your individual training."

Yue raised her hand. "Excuse me, but why this spike, and training with knives and a sword? Why not with a gun?"

"You will be standing port watches with weapons as well. Some planets restrict spacers to the port area, and don't allow them to carry weapons when they're off duty," Ms. O replied. "Centuries ago, some planets tried to classify the spike as a weapon, and the Guild quarantined them. Now the spike is classified as a tool, not a weapon, just like an ice pick."

"Stations and ports can be dangerous, especially for women," Ms. Tonks put in. "There's a lot of sexism, and the possibility of kidnapping and a collar." She raised her hands, "I'm not going to pretty it up, but we do the best we can to keep you safe. That means keeping to check-in times, going in groups, training in defense and weapons. That means no dawdling in markets or a pub. If you're supposed to be back at the ship at fifteen-hundred, that means fifteen-hundred. No last hand of Tonton, no final toss with a slave. Fifteen-hundred."

"Tonton?"

"A card game, like poker," Ms. O replied. "You'll learn it. Any questions?"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, September 27, 2003: 18:14 (UTC)  
Terra, Hogwarts:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Though not comparable to the Grand Council that had been held in February of last year, there were still a number of Slytherin alumni appearing. While this was nominally to add Empress Wayne's portrait to the Slytherin gallery, there were other items on the agenda, as well as a general opportunity to network (and party).

While the hooded and disguised members of Slytherin House arrived, students from other houses watched as they appeared through the great doors and the Entrance Hall's floo. There was some discussion as various nobles and MP's were recognized, but most of those entering were unknown. The lower year Slytherins dusted off the floo travelers, and they all headed down into the dungeons.

* * *

"She had a major part in the operations against the late half-blood Riddle and those of his organization that promoted their racist twaddle, and also allowed themselves to be branded like cattle by Riddle. She has been an asset to our House, and I am reliably informed that Alastair the Sorting Hat had to be forced to place her in Gryffindor, primarily because of her family history of Gryffindor. Since then, at twenty-two, she has served as the operations chief of my intelligence agency, more than willing to get her hands dirty."

"You are both too young! You are only children!" someone objected.

"Something we all go through," and a ripple of laughter went around. "You could say the same for me," the Empress replied. "This is a situation totally unique in our history, and while we are more than willing to listen and learn from those older than we are, history and fate have thrust these duties upon us. Is there another objection?" There was silence, and she turned. "Please bring in the subject, Headmistress."

Minerva brought in a blindfolded young woman, placing her on a three-legged stool. She removed the blindfold and stepped back, as the young red-headed woman blinked in the darkness. A light rose, illuminating her, and she raised her hand to shield her eyes. Ms. Wayne strolled into the spotlight next to her, "Members of Slytherin House, I offer for your consideration Ms. Ginevra Molly Weasley Potter. Because of my status, I recuse myself from voting "

"What do you mean, your status?"

"I am officially a sixth-year, but on an extended leave of absence from Hogwarts," the Empress replied. "Due to my duties to the Empire and status of a head of state, I am taking a series of tutors instead of sitting classes. I am also Ms. Potter's sponsor, so it would be improper for me to vote." She waited a minute, then asked, "Please light your wands in favor." People counted, and then "Those against? Please light your wands."

People waited, counting again. Ms. Wayne asked, "Slytherin House has voted. Headmistress, will you place Alastair on Ms. Potter's head?"

"This is only the fourth time since the Founders that I've re-Sorted someone," Alastair said. "I still have a veto, and Ms. Potter can still decline the re-Sort." There was a murmur, and Alastair snapped, "Oh, be quiet and let me work." There was silence, and then Ginny nodded. "I consent." Alastair grunted, "As do I. Slytherin!" he shouted. Minerva stepped forward to collect Alastair and the stool as Ginny hopped off. The lights came up, and Professor Snape stepped forward, tapping a column with his wand. A series of names started to rotate, "You will state your full, legal name, and smear some of your blood on each word, then tap it with your wand."

Ginny swallowed and stepped next to the column. "Ginevra Molly Weasley Potter." Accepting a small knife, she sliced a finger, then smeared her blood across all four names. She tapped it with her wand, and they started to rotate. A cheer went up, and concealing hoods and glamours were dropped. House elves popped in with drinks and snacks, and the party commenced.

* * *

"Flint, Marcus Flint," the Empress said slowly, searching her memory. "Ah, yes. Only Slytherin in one hundred thirty years to repeat a year. Specifically, your seventh. Three OWLs as well, as I understand it." She took a sip of her drink, and Marcus fought down his anger. His robes were worn, and he was hoping to eat at the Slytherin table, as he only had a few galleons to his name. The young woman looked up at him, "The Chudley Cannons turned down your application for Chaser, despite their need and league scoring and your record with the Slytherin Quidditch team. Partially due to that mark on your left arm." She took another sip.

"Yes, well, I need "

"A job. Rather desperately. Still, you are a housemate, and I happen to know of an open position in my Ministry of Information. A sports reporter, and you're a decent looking bloke." She took another sip of her drink, then set it down on a side table, withdrawing a business card from a pocket. She jotted a note on it, initialed it, and held it up. "Ten galleons credit at Parv and Lav's shop at number 12 in Diagon Alley. A new robe and muggle business wear, and take their advice regarding the clothing styles. The job covers off-world as well as muggle sports to be re-sent to the different colony worlds of the Empire. Cricket, tennis, golf, baseball, football, basketball and so forth. Not just Quidditch. Study up on them, know at least the basic rules, the major players, the leagues and so forth. There's a lot of travel involved. Secondly, we're building a major sports complex on Luna, hopefully in time for our Olympic bid." She gave him a look of warning, "Any blood supremacy crap out of your mouth and you won't get past the front door. The muggles outnumber us a million to one. This job means you need to live and work as a muggle, and don't bother trying to dig up a Muggle Studies textbook, it's almost two hundred years out of date." He winced, took a deep breath and nodded. She handed over the card, then pulled twenty galleons from her pocket. "Go to Gringotts, convert that to muggle pounds, and spend a few days living as a muggle. Go to the British Library and start doing research. Use part of that to buy an inexpensive mobile phone - you'll need it."

"Yes. Thank you." He turned and moved off, and she looked over at Callista. "Think I was too rough on him?"

"No, I think he might be salvageable," Deputy Headmistress Vector replied. "I hope so, ever since his father went under the Dark Lord's sway. He was always marginal there, a bit weak-willed. Hopefully this will put the fear of poverty in his soul, if it isn't there already."

"Yes. I need to make a call about him. Excuse me." Callista moved away, and she pulled out her mobile. "Matt? I'm sending a bloke named Marcus Flint your way about a sports reporter position. One that requires a lot of travel and extensive coverage of muggle non-magical sports. His father fell into this racist, blood-bigot crap and we're trying to salvage the son. No, stop laughing. Yes, you can have some fun with him, but he could use a break and he's a Quidditch fanatic. Yes, that's the game on broomsticks, like basketball. Yes, that one. Make sure you put in some zero-gee sports like tank ball as well, and I mentioned the Olympic complex we're building. Oh, you that's so mean participatory reporting oh, you're evil, Matt. Yes, I sent him for some good clothes and to study at the British Library, so it will be a few days. Yes, any racist crap and he's out the door, I warned him."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Sunday, September 28, 2003: 09:04 (UTC)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Library:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Mattie sat in one of the small study rooms in the library and asked, "So, Bill, it's been three months or so, how are you doing with your Bolo project? Buttermilk Lime? Designing a tank for urban combat?"

"I went to the various war museums in London, and I've been talking to veterans and doing some research into some of the major battles, ma'am," he replied. "Tanks are useful as fire support for the infantry, but tanks are open-country critters. They still have major weaknesses that are going to be tough to get around. Their vulnerable points are the top and the sides, and they have a ten meter blind area around them. They can be intimidating as hell, so they're more useful as a psychological tool." People nodded, and he continued. "You spend a few million on a tank, and they can be damaged by an RPG costing fifty quid. That being said, I think I've come up with something useful. I checked my work with Professor Croft, what we'd be doing is casting a bunch of small wards on each armor plate."

"Now that sounds interesting," she replied, making some notes.

"Yes, ma'am. I figure on several different forms of threat: the grav tanks and hover tanks use a plasma-based main gun, there's also a type of coil gun that hyper-accelerates a steel needle, and last explosive blast and shock, like from IEDs and bombs of various sorts. They also use anti-grav to move, instead of wheels or treads." She nodded, tenting her fingers and resting her chin on them as he continued. "First, the two types of enemy tank. Given the state of their electronics industry, they have to have a large area in their shields open, or at least transparent for their comms, sensors and optics. They also have some fairly delicate generators providing basic kinds of shielding for their main gun. Even a small amount of damage to those generators, or their exposed antennae, will make the main gun hazardous to the crew. That throws them back on their machine-gun-like coil guns, and those we can knock out of alignment."

Warren put in, "There are some of those tanks that can be operated remotely."

"Yes, and along with the normal high explosive rounds, we can fire a jammer round. Put some magnets or glue so it will stick to the deck of the enemy tank." Bill had an evil grin. "Back to our tanks. I don't know what goes into Chobham armor, the formula is secret. However, it's a ceramic - based plate that's bolted into place. I don't see why we can't mold or etch some runes into each plate. (He passed over a sketch.) Runes for power adaption and storage, fire protection, and impact protection. Our tanks are already fitted with the shielding flowers, we simply extend those out and use that system for power to the runes. In testing, we only needed a few milliwatts for each plate, as the wards will build power continuously, even just from sitting in the sun."

Mattie sat back, eying him. "That seems too I don't know, easy."

"Testing for the correct runes and their placement for each plate, and their unification is what's going to take time. Each plate is about an inch thick and four inches across, in different shapes. This is a variant of charged armor; only instead of high voltage on the outside and ground, we're projecting a field, or ward. We can also add other types of armor - explosive, spaced armor, slat or angled armor. Another problem is that various types of armor weighs quite a bit, so we're looking at upgrading the power systems and drives. I've heard reports the Leopard V is under-powered." He shrugged, "On the other hand, we can use things like aluminum and steel mesh for some kinds of spaced armor."

"Wait - spaced armor? Explosive armor?" Ami asked.

"A tank-killing projectile kills by hitting the steel hull and punching a hole, which creates fragments and hot gasses inside the hull, killing and wounding the crew and damaging equipment," Bill replied. "The fragments are called 'spall', by the way. If you can stop that hole and those fragments from being created, you might get a dent, but nothing more serious. Spaced armor separates that hole being punched from the actual hull, and explosive armor sets off a counter-explosion which cancels out the killing projectile." He conjured a glass of water, "The alternative is using light-weight but expensive metals, like titanium instead of steel. However, once we get the correct rune placement and make sure they all work together correctly, we can standardize sizes and placement for the different vehicles."

"What about levitation, anti-grav plates on the hull?"

"They're more delicate. You hit a rock in the road, you crack it and you wouldn't even know it until you tried to fly and found yourself unbalanced. That's one of the tactics we've gamed out against the hover and grav tanks, a type of mine that detects the anti-grav field and goes off."

"Cool," Mattie said with a grin. "I should be properly horrified, but cool. Anything else?"

"Yeah," Bill said. "The runes should also protect the back deck of the tank's hull. We don't have to have a big area for our generator's air intake, we can put it under the turret, behind the turret ring where it slopes off. That eliminates a vulnerability that the big diesel engines have - a massive air intake. You fire an RPG into that from a rooftop, you've got a mobility kill - the engine needs to be repaired." He took a gulp from his water glass. "Another part of that problem is someone sitting on a rooftop with a sniper rifle or RPG, or inside a house. We need a way to identify that sniper and if necessary, take him out."

"Why the question about taking a sniper out?" Anna Driver asked.

"We'll have our own snipers," Mattie replied. "We're using our Special Forces teams to organize the slaves on the enemy planets into a resistance and then into an insurgency. We're trying for the 'hearts and minds' approach and minimal collateral damage and kills. We could destroy the cities from orbit, like they did to Paris, but that would only create enemies and piss a lot of people off, whereas if we get the oligarchs to think someone's gunning for them, preferably their competition, they'll do a lot of the job for us." She took a swallow from her own conjured water glass, "If that means we're labeled terrorists by our enemies, then we are."

"I'm a little horrified at the thought of snipers," Ami Bones commented. "It's not a wizarding way to fight. Then again, this is a muggle war; we can't be casting spells at a ten-meter distance. I've tried to get some of my pure-blooded relatives to understand that, but " she shrugged.

"The problem with any sort of resistance and insurgency is participation," Warren put in. "We've kicked this around. In some cases, up to forty percent of the civilian population wants nothing to do with any sort of revolution or social disruption. They're either perfectly happy with the existing arrangement, or are part of that arrangement. Another forty to fifty percent is in agreement with 'fixing things' (he finger-quoted), but doesn't see a way for that to happen, or any way they could 'safely' (he finger-quoted again) be part of that social change. The last ten percent or so wants change, immediate change, is rather angry about it, but doesn't see a way to do it." He leaned forward, tenting his fingers, "On a typical enemy planet, the vast majority of the population are slaves. They are completely and utterly powerless, they have absolutely no say in who owns them or what they do. If they object, or try to resist, at best they can expect a severe beating, if not confiscation from their owners and public torture and execution. They are spied on and tracked during the day by their masters and informed on by other slaves, who do it to save their own lives."

"So how do we install this resistance?" Heather Canby asked.

"We use their own methods against them," Warren replied. "Their slave agents are identified as belonging to specific holding companies, and reporting to certain masters. We identify our own slave agents "

"Wait! We have slaves?" Heather said, rather loudly, just ahead of her friend Sara Whitloe.

"We would have to, it only makes sense," Warren replied sharply. All of them looked at Mattie, who sighed. "We do not trade in slaves," she said carefully. "It is not a subject I'm happy with. We do have agents, paid, volunteer agents, who are undercover on various enemy planets. You will not discuss this with anyone, I repeat anyone, or between yourselves. Drop this point, Mr. Driver, and continue."

"Err, yes, ma'am." He took a minute to reorganize his thoughts. "This is how I would arrange things. I would arrange for my err, agents (he paused to look at the Empress) to be, um, managed by either an existing holding company or by another, and marked in the appropriate databases to be, um, ignored by the various security troops. At checkpoints and so forth. Also, since the planets are generally pretty corrupt, I would bribe or blackmail the um, managers so that we get the information." He swallowed, "The German agents that were captured in World War Two by us. The British, I mean. We turned them and gave them false information to report."

"Bit of a different situation, but that makes sense," his sister Anna said thoughtfully. "So which part of the population does that cover?"

"Most of it, actually," her brother replied. "The people who don't want anything to do with it will still own slaves that will gossip with the slaves of the people that want change. We insert our own err, agents as um, new arrivals, and they'll learn who has good information, who is hot under the collar "

"So to speak," Sara put in.

"Err, yes. Those people, err, slaves, err "

Mattie rolled her eyes, "Please continue, Mr. Driver."

"Err, yes. I would make those the basis of my action teams. The part I haven't figured out is how to block the collar transmitters, assuming any invasion hasn't taken place yet."

"Measures are available, Mr. Driver. Please continue."

"Err, yes, ma'am," and Warren seemed lost for a second. He shook himself, "Yes. Right-o, ma'am. The real hotheads, err, slaves, err "

"Call them slaves, Warren," his sister put in.

"Yes, the um, hotheads, the ones that want action NOW," he banged his fist on the table then shook it. "Ow. Anyway, they would make good suicide bombers. Drive a truck into a police station or such, our propaganda has them as heroic martyrs for the cause." He blinked. "What about propaganda? Wouldn't the press be controlled?"

"You may safely assume that, Mr. Driver. Don't forget the slave gossip network, and there are other methods. Remember in a controlled society, the population assumes the government will lie constantly, even about the weather. Therefore those other methods assume greater credibility. Please continue."

"Um, yes. Where was I? Oh, yes. The slaves that can wait we train them up to do any actual fighting for when we go on the offensive. We'd have to make sure they would keep their mouths shut, and give them a method to kill themselves if captured. Oh, and make the teams small, and disguise them somehow, so if one was captured, the only ones she could reveal would be her own small team."

"Very good, Mr. Driver," Mattie applauded. "Che would be proud of you."

"Err, Che?" Ami asked.

"Che Guevara, Cuban revolutionary in the 1960s," Warren replied.

"As interesting as this has been, we need to get back to the counter-sniper solution," the Empress said.

"Err, yes, ma'am. The answer is drones. Unmanned aerial vehicles. Used for surveillance, and fitted with something like a machine gun or small auto-cannon, they fly around and use things like cameras and infrared to spot people. The operators back at our base would use either the on-board weapon system or call in a helicopter gunship. We could use some of the slave girls to operate them, which should give them that emotional distance. After all, they're just data on a computer display for them, they're not directly holding a weapon. There would need to be some sort of friendly-forces display, though." He took a swallow from his own glass of water. "Five people in a team including a commander, two operators, two launching and recovering and servicing the drones."

"We wouldn't get all of them," Mattie commented.

"No, but they would need to expose themselves to fire, which would increase the likelihood of their own deaths, ma'am."

"Good."

"Mattie, Julie and I got an email from Teela, in case we ran into you," Bill said. "They've gotten another contract from Systems Command." He dug through a file folder and skated a printout across the table. "This is normally printed in a comic book format. It's a preventative maintenance guide, but people can also email questions in. In that format, it's small enough to be emailed interstellar."

"Cool," Mattie grinned again. "'Preventive Maintenance Service'. Someone's really stretching for titles." She paged through the issue. "Still, it's a good idea, and I notice two of the characters look an awful lot like Misty and Hank." She grinned again. "I like it. I notice that you have a top sergeant and some collared girls, and it's printed in Trade and it's printed on the flip side in English. Very cool. Addresses the current market, lets the girls identify with the characters, and gives the reasoning as well as the part numbers. I'm going to show this to Heinrike, it's a concern that's been mentioned."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, October 1, 2003: 08:04:00 (UTC)  
Hour 663.04/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, HIM Offices:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"So, Heinrike, how was your trip?" the Empress asked as they were all settling down with coffee or tea.

"Both enjoyable and useful," the CMO replied, taking a sip of her coffee. "I had forgotten how much pleasure there was to be had on a boat. I was also able to take control of one of the craft and gain an appreciation of how they handled." She took another sip and sat back. "There were some minor problems regarding shipping a fifty meter boat, primarily in removing and reattaching the antennae and the masts, but nothing insurmountable." She held her coffee mug in her hands, "We will be emplacing a small shipyard, with cranes and such, if the target port does not already have such amenities. I do not foresee major difficulties."

"Fifty meter boat?" Lady Sarah murmured. "That's quite a boat, but somehow I can't see you in a bikini."

"I should say not!" Heinrike said, mock-outraged. She smiled, "I was taking a tour of the accommodations, when I discovered we had cast off and were heading out into Manila Bay. We headed away from the container port and upriver. We were able to enter small tributaries that I was convinced we would not be able to. This is where I was given the helm and was able to maneuver the boat as if we were landing troops, or stopping and searching fishing boats." She took a swallow of coffee, "This seems to be well-planned, however the old saying applies about contact with the enemy. I also examined the proposed port facilities. While I am not a naval officer, I had some with me, they seemed satisfied. My principal concern was with portability; also speed and ease of the components completion." She took another sip, "However, the fifty-meter boats are more toward added firepower, more of command boats. All of the boats will be aluminum-hulled and electrically powered, but most of them will be only fifteen meters, a crew of five and a draft of only half a meter. Using them, we can police the islands and perform rescues and such." She gave a mock-glare, "For that, we do not need for me, or anyone, to wear a bikini."

There were chuckles, and the Empress commented, "That's something we need to remember, we are not conquering overlords, crushing the locals beneath our hobnailed boots. We are there to lift them into the light and warmth of a new day (she raised an open-palmed hand from her knee)."

"Very pretty turn of phrase," Heinrike commented. "You should become a politician." She took a swallow of coffee as people chuckled, "In our TO&E, we shall need to emphasize the need to hold down civilian casualties as much as possible, which will be difficult in urban warfare." She gestured, "In clearing a building, a fire team of four to six soldiers goes room-to-room, starting from the top. They abseil from the roof, as stairwells are death traps. They kick in doors, throw a grenade and then hose down the room with a sub-machine gun before entering it. This minimizes casualties among your troops, although they still happen with a greater frequency than in open-field combat. You will also use up far greater stocks of grenades and small arms ammunition, especially with reliable 9mm weapons like the MP-5, which we shall be issuing to our supported insurgent slave girls." She raised a hand, "I know we have moved to the P90 and its 5.7x28mm cartridge. I personally do not like it, as it is designed to defeat body armor. However, the occupants of these flats and these small shops and factories will be civilians and slaves. They will not be wearing body armor. Instead, I should prefer the troops have gas masks and throw capture-gas grenades. Better our insurgent slave girls serve to bind and transport the unconscious civilians and their sister-slaves to a processing centre. It will be slow but thorough. We can then repair the buildings or demolish them, as required."

"This brings up another point," Lady Sarah, her Intelligence chief commented. "Unlike the various battles for Berlin, Stalingrad, and so forth, these cities have working, semi-modern infrastructure. They have paved roads, street lights and functional power, water, sewer and communications, even if they are somewhat out of date by our standards. We need to capture this intact if at all possible for our own use. Because they use a single generating plant burning Fuel, this needs to be captured and then defended against any members of the Planetary Guard that decide to play terrorist."

"From what I know of them, that is unlikely," Mr. Kim Soo-bin, the Minister of Commerce put in. "However, that will certainly reduce our costs."

"Something I am all in favor of," Mr. Griplink, the goblin Minister of Finance said. "If you will excuse the crudity, this is a bloody expensive war."

"Not only in gold, but in lives as well," General von Hesse added. "You have not had to write too many letters as yet, Miss Wayne, but you will be." She gestured at the Empress' uniform and her jungle green body suit under the over-tunic, "Do not forget, as the sponsor and commander of Her Majesty's Own Special Operations troops, it falls to you to write the letters to the families of those Special Forces troops upon their death. Even that demented Austrian paper-hanger of a corporal occasionally observed that tradition."

"I know. I've already had to write a few," she said with a deep breath. "I'm not looking forward to writing more."

"Nor should you. You should not farm it out to a secretary or two, even if they volunteer. That would not be proper, and it would be entirely unfair to the secretaries. They did not send those troops into combat. You did. You should also not use a form letter, or mail-merge. A hand-written letter. No, no matter what the actual cause, they died courageously in the service of the Empire." The general gave a wry smile as she passed over several file folders, "At least you do not have to deliver the letters."

The group was quiet for a few minutes until the Empress took a deep breath, shook herself, then asked, "Infrastructure?"

"Yes," Lady Sarah replied, shaking herself a bit. "Yes. Those cities who are built upon the mainlands, or at least the larger islands, have an extensive network of service tunnels. They connect buildings with control and distribution points for power, comms using coaxial cables, water and sewer pipes. We had wondered how the local populations of slaves managed to conduct business for their masters when they also had to remain unseen." She handed out some photos; "This explains it. Not only do they conduct business after dark, but by also using the tunnels and the narrow-gauge trams. When we want to connect our field equipment, we connect adapter trailers between our equipment and the civic infrastructure."

"Interesting but the tunnels increase the hazard of our troops," Heinrike commented.

"If the buildings have a sub-basement entrance, have the troops start from both the bottom and the top," Matt Hagen, the shape-shifter head of the Ministry of Information said; who today looked like Douglas Fairbanks. "You can also block off the areas we don't want people going into with some temporary plywood walls and some barbed wire. After all, we're dealing with slave girls and unarmed civilians. Once you've cleared the area, you remove the block."

"Any repairs or construction can be contracted out to local firms," Mr. Kim added. "This will gain goodwill for us, along with setting up accounts and paying for our services." He smiled slightly, "However, we can insist on not being overcharged."

"As far as that goes," Matt said, morphing into Marilyn Monroe in her famous white dress, "We have several television and radio shows lined up to promote our agenda. Things like sitcoms and game shows that will get people not only laughing, but also thinking along our lines." She raised a finger, "We are also planning newspapers and broadcast news programs, but we will insist on editorial independence. We will also charge for the newspapers, as a giveaway paper is worth exactly what you pay for it - nothing."

"We will operate at a considerable loss," Mr. Griplink warned.

"That's all right. Since we will be hiring the slave girls for public works projects, and paying them, initially they won't have much to spend their wages on. They will see and hear the news, and read the newspapers, and discuss them. Some girls' masters will see us as a threat, and punish the girls, forbidding them to have anything to do with us. Others will read the news, and listen and watch secretly, while others will be open about it." 'Marilyn' shrugged, before turning into Audrey Hepburn. "The key is to get them thinking, and to believe our information."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, October 1, 2003: 12:00:00 (UTC)  
Hour 667.00/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, HIM Offices:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The monthly telecast started with the Empress being introduced. She smiled slightly, "Good day. I thought we'd do something different for today's drawing. Instead of going year-month-day, I thought we'd reverse that. Remember, if your corrected birthday is drawn, you've got a month to get things arranged before you report. Let's get to it." She took a few steps and moved the red lever. "The first! Now the month!" She moved the second machine's red lever, "April! So we've got April Fool's day. Let's find out what year." She moved the last machine's red lever, allowing the plastic ball to pop in. "1979! So our date for October, 2003 is April first, 1979! Thank you, and our monthly press conference follows immediately after this telecast. Have a good day."

"And Cut!" The producer held his hand next to his earphone, "Sounds good, ma'am. Let's wrap things up." He took a second look at her, "Are you all right?"

She gave him a slightly crooked smile. "The casualty and fatality reports I'm getting." She gestured at her uniform, the jungle green body suit under the light grey over-tunic and light purple shoulder tabs with a single silver circle showing her rank. "I'm wearing an Army uniform as a test to see how it rates with the public. It's a lot more comfortable than the skirted business suit, but I think I prefer the suit. Civilian command of the military and all." She sighed, "Sorry. I didn't mean to dump on you."

"No problem. You've got another press conference?"

She grinned. "Every month I get worked over by the press. It's barely time to let the bruises heal."

"Better you than me."

"Hah!" she replied, but with a grin. He grinned back and shooed her off.

* * *

"Good afternoon, everyone," she called to the assembled newsies as she entered the room, dropping some file folders and her beret on a table. "I just did our monthly drawing, and I have a statement before I take questions." She changed the small wireless transmitter with another on the podium. "Mike check. One, two, three, four." Getting a 'thumbs up' from the techs at the rear of the room, she asked, "Everyone ready? Let's go." The red lights on the cameras went on, and she smiled, "Good afternoon, and welcome back to our monthly press conferences. I've just done the monthly drawing, and April first, 1979 was drawn."

"What's with the uniform?" Lois Lane called.

"I am the sponsor and commander of Her Imperial Majesty's Own Special Forces. It was noted that I should be wearing the uniform as the commander, so I'm giving it a try. I will say that it's really comfortable." She tapped the body suit with her fingertip "The jungle green of Special Forces. Unfortunately, that also means I get to write the letters home."

She paused, "Okay, people. Cards on the table time. Just you, me, and a few million of our closest friends here. I'm going to ask you not to edit or cut what I'm about to say; I'll take questions after. I think everyone here in this room knows me fairly well, I've met a number of you as well as your neighbors at places like church services where we've shared a cup of coffee or tea, or at places like shopping malls." She looked around, "I've heard a lot of stuff about the conscription issue; I'm going to answer some questions as honestly as I can." She blushed, "Sorry. Politician speak, my bad. As I said, you all know me. If I can't answer a question, I'll say so, and those are generally involving intelligence or military matters. I think most people would understand that. To move on, one question was why we were going it alone. The answer is that we're not. Our Foreign Ministry is in the process of negotiating trade and mutual assistance treaties with several other star nations. Madame Wai Tsien, my Foreign Minister can answer more of those questions. On some of them, the negotiations are at delicate points, so I don't want to screw things up."

She looked around the room, then continued. "Another question I've heard is using existing military forces or reserves from the US, Russia, China and so forth. To answer that, we have to look at the numbers. Best case, we need twenty-five to thirty million for all the services, including the Merchant Services. To give a comparison, I believe that's roughly the number of ALL military forces, Allied and Axis, in World War Two." She waited, looking around the room. "Besides the fact that we have no legal basis to ask, if we were to take every single member of the existing world-wide military, including their reserves and provincial reserve forces, it wouldn't be enough. The US military, active duty and reserves, including retired members, by itself is about three million. The Chinese Federation is about five million. Russia is another three. Now, you all have politicians at home in the US, Europe, Japan and so on. You ask yourself how likely their agreeing to that would be. The current members of the various militaries have available a 'joint' option (she finger-quoted) in their training, so a US service member can go and serve with a German or British or Japanese outfit. For the same reason, there has been some limited call-up of reserve units, primarily specialist outfits like engineers or public affairs, for the Empire."

Once again, she looked around the room. "People, let's look at the cold, hard reality. Earth, this system (she tapped on the table), is the primary source for population, finance and commercial and industrial activity in the Empire." She leaned forward, "We are ONE planet against TWENTY FIVE. We CANNOT lose this planet." She looked around the room. "If the enemy loses a planet, even their capital planet of Aeeloh, the Republic does not die. If we lose Earth, that's it. Game over. We all die. Therefore, the first priority has to be the defense of this system. We have had two Republican fleets try to take it away. If there's another attempt, or someone manages to land ground troops " She looked around. "Second priority is our colony planets. They were promised protection. That means Army troops and bases, and a naval presence. Not only does that help their own economies, it provides a backup of our species and our way of life. Those colonists are also being trained in stay-behind warfare, as guerrillas, and boosting their own manufacturing and industrial potential. Just in case."

"Third priority is taking the war to the enemy. That means ships, both naval ships and cargo ships. It means Army troops, tanks, and artillery, and yes, it also means invasion and occupation of those twenty five planets." She looked around, "Since those two fleets appeared, there has been a single ship with an ambassador from the Republic of Sodolokve. His offer was 'Surrender or die'. Our reply was less than polite." There was a small titter of laughter that died quickly. "We asked him when the Republic would apologize and offer compensation for our damages. He found the idea that they should do anything like that insulting and outrageous, and repeated his demand for our total, unconditional surrender. The recording, uncut and un-interrupted of that exchange was less than fifteen minutes; it's on the Empire's web site. Some of our ships escorted him out of the system. His ship didn't even make orbit."

"You declined the chance to negotiate?" one reporter called.

"A negotiation implies there is some give-and-take, some compromise on both sides," the Empress replied. "There was no flexibility on his part, only two options: surrender or death." She looked around the room, "I'll take questions now." She pointed, "Ms. Takhito."

"Yes, ma'am. You've said you turned down the Republic's offer "

"They offered life as their slaves or death. They didn't offer anything else, and were offended that we had refused their generous offer. They also didn't want to discuss anything else. Personally, I'll go down with their King's blood on a blade if that's their best offer."

"Follow-up question. Could that be a negotiating ploy, ma'am?"

"Possible but I consider that unlikely. I've talked to our people who are experienced diplomats and they wouldn't have staked out such a strong position if there was any possibility of compromise." She shook her head. "No, from what we've learned about interstellar diplomacy, there are some star nations where everything is available for the right price, and others where there is no compromise; it's their way or death." She looked around, "I've heard the comment 'Oh, she's so young ' Yes, I'm young, however I think I have enough common sense to listen to people that have more experience in their respective fields, to listen to different people and THEN make a decision. That includes moral and ethical advice, by the way. I'm willing to talk, to make deals, but not to endanger the security and the well-being of the citizens of the Empire. That has to come first." She pointed, "Mr. Ullage."

The reporter from the Detroit Free Press rose. "Ma'am, you've made a point about finances. What are your plans for the Republican planets?"

"First, I note that unemployment is continuing to drop world-wide. That's good as people are getting good jobs and helping to boost the economy. Every one of our planetary colonies has a road map for political, social, and economic improvement. These are not cast in stone, the local System Governor can, with the advice and consent of their planetary Assemblies modify these as they wish. The difference is that Republican planets move a healthy percentage, from forty to sixty percent of their gross system product off-planet to Aeeloh and the various oligarchies, and interstellar businesses and corporations. That's trillions going into their pockets. Most of the balance goes to the local rulers and their business interests on planet. That's billions more that's not going into investment in the local economies, but into the pockets of various local fat cats. That leaves from five to ten percent of the gross system product. Still a lot of money, but not on a planetary scale. How would you do with being forced into ninety-five percent taxation? That's one reason why there's extensive corruption and a black-market on each planet." She took a swallow from her hidden glass of water. "Each of our military governors will have a similar road map, along with advisers for social, political, and economic change. One thing we plan on doing is extensive public works projects - roads, rail and shipyards, repairing any damage, along with a basic set of rules and regulations that can be developed into a planetary constitution. One item would be harsh penalties for public corruption."

"How harsh?"

"Death." There were several murmurs at that. "A trial, with defense counsel, appeals, and if the verdict and sentence are upheld, public execution. Someone taking in a good salary as a public servant should not need to be bribed to do their jobs. Our experience with our own colony planets shows that after a bit of time, and very public hangings, the message sinks in that we don't tolerate corruption. We also plan to take those billions and trillions from the fat cats and oligarchies and invest them in the planetary economy."

"With a healthy percent going back to the Empire, I'm sure," Lois Lane called.

The Empress grinned, "Six and a half percent, Ms. Lane," the Empress replied. "That's the flat tax rate, from my paycheck and yours, as well as from the various planets in the Empire. That's set by the Assembly, and a bill changing that would need to be proposed, go through three readings and a vote, then go to me for my signature. We are an Empire of law, and any investment by a Terran company in one of the planets will be paying that rate, as well as any local taxes. They will also have on their planetary Board of Directors representatives of the Crown as well as any labor unions. Those various Boards would decide where and how to invest." She pointed, "Mr. Kent."

"The Kryptonian probe, ma'am. What is the status?"

"The last I heard, the crystalline growth had been cleared off, and was traced back to a leak from a fuel tank. We've negotiated with Mr. El, Superman, but those talks are private. The passenger turns out to be a relative, the exact family relationship is between a niece and a cousin, something to do with clan relationships. Should he wish, Mr. El can explain it. Moving on, Mr. Kim."

"It's actually Mr. You, ma'am," the Korean said. "I had a question about the PoWs. Specifically, where are they and what is going on there?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. You. Thank you for the correction. As far as where they are, the location of our prison colony is classified. We do have embedded reporters there, I've seen a few filed reports." She looked around, and several reporters nodded in confirmation. "As far as what's going on, please remember that this was a pirate and slaver enclave, that's being worked on as well as building the infrastructure of the colony. Power, water, fuels, road and rail lines as well as planting and harvesting crops, anything else a colony requires. That doesn't happen overnight. Aside from that, the various slaver and pirate captains are somewhat irritated that they can't proceed with business as usual, and continue to capture, collar and steal crews and ships. Imagine that!" She grinned, and continued, "That being said, it's a good experience in dealing with hostile ships, crews and local communities. We've learned quite a lot, which will definitely help when we attack the Republican systems."

"When and where and how, ma'am?" Mr. You called as a quick follow-up.

"Classified. Sorry. I do not confirm or deny military or intelligence matters," she self-quoted. "Ms. Tse? Welcome to Luna and Port Oldridge, and I do hope I have your name right."

"You do, ma'am, and thank you. Will there be embedded reporters on the attack fleets?"

"Yes. Their reports will pass through Army censorship filters, but that's to prevent specifics, such as locations or times, and operational security. If an individual will allow their name and home-town to be used, that's up to them. What we don't want is a report saying the 'Thirty-fifth brigade, attacking the planet of (she waved her hand) Eden, here at oh-two hundred local'. However, if you have an interview with a private Sam Smith, as long as both of you observe the no specifics rule and operational security, you can say or write what you want. Clear enough?"

"Follow up, ma'am. If private Smith says something negative, then what?"

"As long as private Smith observes the fact that he or she is not speaking for their unit, or the Empire, and observes operational security, they have freedom of speech, and can say what they want. I may not like what they say, but if there's a problem, I want to know about it." She pointed, "Ms. Gretchko?"

"Da. Am asking about Freedom Bond sales."

"Freedom bonds are available as both commercial paper and through banks, as well as point-of-sale and checkouts in grocery stores. They've been good sellers, especially in the larger retailers such as Aldi , Tesco and Wal-Mart . We do ask you to go to the web site to register the bond, it's like a gift card, with a magnetic stripe and bar code. If you do, we'll send you an email when it expires telling you how and where to cash it in, or how to roll it over into another." She paused a second or two for a follow-up question, then pointed, "Mr. Allen?"

"What's in those file folders, ma'am?"

"Fatality reports." She took a deep breath, "As the commander, it falls to me to write the letters to their families. If any of you have ever had to write those, or God forbid, receive them, you know that it's not pleasant. That's all I'll say on that subject, and I'll ask you to please respect their privacy. Have at me, but leave them alone. Did you have another question on a different subject, Mr. Allen?"

"Yes, ma'am. Getting back to the conscription, how's that working out?"

"In general, fairly smoothly. We're getting a 97.1 reporting percentage. The major reason people aren't reporting are legal hang-ups, primarily due to family issues. If they need to change custody of minor children, some of the courts are scheduling these hearings two or three months out, so people don't report." She shifted, "If that's happening to you, please, please, give us a call. If you don't report and don't call us, we don't have a choice but to file criminal charges. That means a military court-martial and military prison, and we don't want to see that happen. We'll call the courts and lawyers and try to get things sorted out and things sped up, but we'll make a note in your files so you won't be arrested. Call us, please, people."

"The second point is that some courts, principally juvenile courts, are sentencing people to Army service in the Infantry. Now, we'll give those people a chance, but remember that you'll be under Army regulations and the UCMJ(12)."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, October 1, 2003: 09:06 (PDT:UTC -7)  
Terra, Seattle, Microsoft Legal:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Carrie Zorbis, 'Administrative Assistant' and her bosses' secretary, sipped her freshly-brewed coffee as Rebecca entered the break room. She watched silently as the tall Asian woman poured her own cup of coffee. Carrie had her pot of coffee at home, stopping for another at Starbucks after she dropped her daughter off at pre-school, and was now starting on her first one here. A single, divorced mother, she relied on coffee to get through the day.

Rebecca rinsed off the communal coffee-spoon, then turned and regarded Carrie as she leaned against one of the tables. The younger (bleached) blonde returned her silent gaze, the older woman leaning back against the counter. They could have been older/younger sisters, both with short-skirted business suits and open-toed heels, although Rebecca tended to wear more perfume.

Carrie cracked first, raising a shaped eyebrow. Rebecca took a sip of coffee, then said, "I was wondering what your plans were for Nancy."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Today is the first of the month. The Imperial Draft?"

"Yes. What has that to do with me, or with Nancy?"

"I watched the news this morning during my exercises. Your birthday is April first, 1979?"

"Yes " The date connected, and blood drained from the younger woman's face. She dropped her mug, splashing hot coffee on her pantyhose-clad legs. "No. NO! I I can't! I'm a a GIRL! I can't be drafted! What about Nancy?"

"She would seem to be only one of your problems." Rebecca took a swallow from her own mug, "What about Nancy's father?"

"That bastard?" she snapped. "He can rot in hell; there's no way I'm leaving her with him!"

"That would leave your parents and the in-laws." Rebecca softened a bit. "As an attorney, if there's anything I can do to help? Drawing up documents and so forth? You've got a month to settle your affairs, after all. For instance, do you have a will?"

"A will?" Carrie asked weakly.

"A will. You're going into the Army and presumably the Infantry, which means combat. Better to be prepared " she stopped there, as Carrie had fainted.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, October 1, 2003: 12:46 (UTC)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Great Hall:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

A number of the staff and students took their meals while watching the news on the large muggle tellies that had been installed in the Great Hall. When the news that the enemy had sent an ambassador, a loud discussion erupted. Minerva, who had been watching, fired off a cannon-blast charm from her wand to quiet the students (and staff) down. "Can any of you find the recording Miss Wayne referred to and put it up on the screen?"

Several Ravenclaws acknowledged, and shortly on the central, largest screen, a camera shot from her office ceiling was shown; Miss Wayne was sitting at her desk and gazing at her monitor, her hands on the keyboard, while a curl of steam from her coffee cup was frozen in mid-air. At the bottom left of the screen was the text 'Imperial Guard' and below that 'HIM Offices #05'. At the lower right was a date/time display, the screen was frozen as the light grey line indicating download status crept to the right.

"Well? Let's see it," Minerva said.

"Wait a few seconds more for it to finish loading, ma'am," Warren Driver replied. "It will be much smoother on playback, there must be a lot of people downloading this." Minerva grunted, and then someone clicked on the 'Play' icon.

The recording started: "Ma'am, you have an incoming call," Ellen said over the intercom. "The Comm office says it's a ship out around Saturn, a frigate, using speed-of-light equipment."

"Ah. What's that signal delay, and who is it?"

"Seventy-five minutes, we just received it a few minutes ago, and it's some arse, excuse me, ma'am, but they weren't too impressed with him, he's Lord De'war, from the Republic. Shall I put it through?"

"On my smart wall. Do we have a comm relay near his ship?"

"Yes, ma'am, one of the new FTL models. Going to play with his head?"

"If I can." She got up, tugging her uniform straight. She took a few steps to check herself in a full length mirror, then picked up a bit of equipment, leaning it out of sight, but close to hand. She took a deep breath, commented, "At least the heels on my boots makes me taller. Play it, Ellen."

"Yes, ma'am." A gaudily dressed civilian appeared, lounging in a ship's command chair. "I am Lord De'war, of the Republic of Sodolokve. I will speak to your King about your surrender to the Republic." He waved his hand, "Send it. I have a hot meal and a hotter slave bound and waiting for me. She writhes in fear of my tool."

"Yes, my master; this slave obeys," a female voice said off-screen as De'war stood and strolled off. "Close the channel, slave," an officer said in the background and the screen went black.

"Oh, god," Mattie giggled. "'She writhes in fear of his tool?' That's like poorly written porn."

"Or a really bad romance novel," Ellen agreed. "He's had a little over an hour to eat and start in on his slave, he won't be expecting a reply for another hour-and-a-half or so. We can interrupt his fun with his slave."

"I knew there was a reason I kept you on besides your fashion sense. Let's see if we can surprise him."

"Just a minute, then." There was a wait, and then a collared slave appeared. "This is the Raped Slave, My Master Lord De'war, owner. Who is calling?"

"I am the Empress of Imperial Terra, returning Mr. De'war's call."

"Yes, mistress. Please wait, this slave shall inform My Master Lord De'war." She turned away, holding a finger to an earpiece, "No, my master. The Mistress is calling on a normal-space frequency, not a standard FTL comm. Yes, my master, this slave obeys." She turned back, "My Mistress, My Master Lord De'war desires you wait upon his pleasure. My Master Lord De'war is raping a slave, and does not wish to be disturbed by your call."

"Please inform MISTER De'war that I have warships targeting the Raped Slave."

A small smile appeared on her face, "Yes, my mistress. This slave shall inform My Master Lord De'war." She turned back, "My master, the Mistress informs this slave that the Mistress has warships that are targeting my master's ship. No, my master, the Mistress does not appear willing to wait upon my master's pleasure." She paused, "Yes, my master. This slave obeys." She turned back, "My mistress, this slave is ordered to request you wait a brief time for my master."

"I see." The Empress rocked back on her heels as she waited.

The comm slave touched her earpiece, raising an eyebrow, "Ready, my mistress? Putting you through to my master Lord De'war." She touched controls on her board, and Mattie was greeted by the image of De'war tying a robe around himself, while behind him a naked slave was spread horizontally on a T-shaped table at waist height, her legs bound widely apart, the front panel of her slave belt removed and a cylinder connected by a cable to her uncovered groin. Her head and neck, showing her lit slave collar, her long red hair hung down behind her, her wrist shackles secured to the base of the table. She moved her head, red hair tossing as she moaned into a thick black gag covering the lower half of her head. Mattie exchanged a look with De'war, then made a subtle gesture toward her waist. He glanced down, then re-wrapped his robe, giving her a small nod. She cleared her throat. "Mr. De'war? I am Martha, Queen of the Terran Empire, returning your call."

"Where is your King, you young fool?"

"There is no King, Mr. De'war. I am the Queen of the Terran Empire."

He sniffed, "I have no time for games, girl. Get off your ship's comm and connect me through."

"No games, Mr. De'war, and we use FTL comms like every other civilized species in the galaxy. Now I'd like to know what your ship is doing in our space despite having failed to contact Traffic Control as any civilized visitor would." She continued, "Mr. De'war, as you are an authorized representative of the Republic of Sodolokve, and as this is an official communication between governments, this is being recorded."

He went white. "Recorded? Official Call back later!"

"Not possible, Mr. De'war; as we will be playing this for King Da'nnge when we arrive in Aeeloh's orbit. The Republic has attacked the Empire. If you attack one, you attack all, and we will reply." She smiled, "The Republic must not think too much of you, Mr. De'war. Only a frigate? After all, both the Princess A'ya and the Princess B'tan had battle cruisers."

"Yes, where are they?" he demanded.

"The Princess A'ya was most unhappy. Her aunt and her grandfather had arranged for her to be shipped here, kept naked, chained and gagged. What was worse was the collar she was forced to wear. No, she doesn't like the Republic at all, and was happy to speak to us, at length, about it. Her aunt, the Princess B'tan, was a different story. A small part of her fleet actually made orbit, and at her orders destroyed one of our cities." She leaned forward, "Millions dead, Mr. De'war, although when we found the Princess B'tan, she was given a trial, with the assistance of a speaker-at-law. I will say that she wore the uniform of the Republic when she met her end on our rope."

"You the Princess B'tan is dead? You have murdered her?"

"She received a trial and was executed as a war criminal, Mr. De'war."

"And the Princess A'ya wears your slave collar!"

"Her collar was placed on her neck by her King, and by the Princess B'tan. We removed it." She cleared her throat, "Now then, Mr. De'war, you have demanded our surrender. Please explain."

"It is simple, barbarian! First, I am LORD De'war, and I will have the surrender of you and this star system. Your elders, those over forty standard years will be swiftly killed, your males will be tortured to extract Grey Ecstasy from their brains, while your females will be collared and Enhanced for our profit." He shifted position, "It is so simple, even a class thirty-two female like yourself should be able to understand it. You I will personally present, stripped and bound to the King, so he may collar you himself. Queen," he sneered.

"There are no additional clauses, no conditions, nothing else to factor into the decision?"

"Of course not. Even a murderous, thieving barbarian female like yourself should be able to determine that. Should you decline my very generous offer, the entire planet will be killed."

"I see," she replied, rocking on her heels as she appeared to consider his offer. "Our options appear to be death for our elders, torture and death for our males, enslavement for our females."

"Correct. Queen (he sneered). I am noted for my generosity, and will expect you aboard this ship for the trip to Aeeloh."

She raised a finger, "I have a counter-offer, MISTER De'war. First, the slaver that sold you the information on this system doesn't seem to have given you all of it. The Republic has twenty-five planets in twelve systems, correct?" He nodded. "Verbal response, please."

"That is correct, but what does this matter? You will wear the King's collar as his barbarian slave."

She raised her left hand, palm out. "That slaver failed to mention a few other little things. First, we are a class twelve, not a class thirty-two system. Second, we have sixty-four systems in our Empire, and facilities on another twenty-three planets for our trade. That's a bit more than six times the size of the Republic. Third, we are a warrior species, and it's been just months since we've had a good war. Why, every one of our millions of Army troops, our Naval forces, our Marines, and our Merchant Services are trained and equipped with THIS!" She drew; "This is an Imperial Army Gladius. A short sword. We prefer to use it." She turned it in her grip, "It has an edge one molecule wide, and will cut through steel, the body armor your Planetary Guard uses doesn't even slow it down." She placed it point down and rested her hands on the sword's grip, left on top, showing the missing finger in the glove. "You've attacked one planet of the Empire, which means you've attacked ALL of them. My offer to you and the Republic is that when we come by each of your planets to extract our revenge, you offer the head of the planet's governor. We don't need the rest, and we WILL be able to tell if it's the right head. Otherwise, our Naval forces might decide to boil the seas and turn the land into glass and fused rock. Just a thought. When we arrive over Glavni Grad, I'm going to take a sword, and collect the King's head."

"You cannot! You are barbarians!"

"Yes. Yes, we are. We're barbarians with sharp swords and star ships; we're not afraid to use them, and you've angered us." She slid the sword into the sheath, "I would have simply demanded an apology and compensation, but you decided to kill my people and collar the women as slaves." She shrugged. "Do we have other business? Wayne, clear." The picture disappeared.

"Well," Minerva offered. "Miss Wayne's negotiating skills seem to be "

"In fine form," Severus put in, and the Great Hall exploded with noise.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, October 1, 2003: 17:46 (UTC)  
Hour 674.46/708.00  
Luna, Grimaldi Crater, Wayne Quarters:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Honey, I'm hoooome! What's for dinner?" Mattie called, joking, as she came through the front door of her apartment. Cindy, her maniac house elf, popped in, taking her things and popping them off to her office.

"We're in the kitchen!" Lois called. "Go get comfortable and join us." Mattie poked her head in the swinging door, "Give me a minute to change."

* * *

"Kara, the reason behind a secret identity is to protect your family," Clark said at dinner. "Your enemies will use them to attack you, unless they don't know who they are."

"But I have no enemies here," his young cousin said, and frowned when her fork bent in her fingers. She slowly straightened it, and used it very carefully to pick up a single pea. She regarded the vegetable with a frown.

"You will, because you will prevent some people from carrying out their plans, or gaining great riches or power. They won't like that, and will seek out and attack your family in order to influence you," Mattie replied.

"But things were not like that in Argo City! People were honest and well-meaning!"

Lois caught Mattie's eye and rolled her own. Mattie put her own fork down and tented her fingers, resting her chin on them. "Kara, most people are good, honest, and kind. However, some people put other things as a higher priority, such as gaining power over others, which also offers the possibility of great wealth. They would see you as a resource to be used, exploited, and then when your utility to them is complete, they will discard that resource. If that means taking power over people you care for, that's what they'll do without hesitation. You would be a tool to them, nothing more, nothing less."

Lois handed the girl a spoon. "Crush it. Destroy it." Kara flicked a glance at Clark, who nodded. She reached out and accepted the spoon with her left hand and crushed it into a small ball, the size of a pea. "You are that spoon to your enemies. They will not care about the spoon's feelings, except as how it affects their own plans."

"But that is that is wrong!"

"Yes. Yes, it is, but it exists, so we take steps to protect those we care about," Mattie said, crossing her knife and fork on her plate and sitting back. "It also allows you some psychological space from your other identities. Here, I'm with family, I can relax and just be Mattie. Out there (she jerked a thumb), I am Her Imperial Majesty, Empress of Terra, Martha the First. Believe me, I want to put that aside at the end of the day." She reached over to pick up her coffee cup, "Ever have a shoe or something you had to wear that was uncomfortable, but you couldn't take it off until later? Perhaps a rock in your shoe, but you had to endure it for now?"

"This undergarment? What was it called?"

"A brassiere, also known as a bra," Lois commented. "Female specific, and it's poking you here?" She gestured under her armpits, and Kara nodded. "That's an under-wire. We can take care of that, but that's part of your female lessons here."

"Cousin Kal does not have to wear this?"

"No. I'm a male. I have other uncomfortable clothing although (he raised a hand) I will concede that women, females seem to have more and different ones."

"We'll discuss that later, without Uncle Kal's presence. That subject seems to make men uncomfortable," Mattie commented. "For now, we can talk about the other identities we've constructed for you. The easiest ones to remember are the closest to the truth, so one of the identities is Karen Zoeller "

* * *

"Oh, that idiotic bastard " Mattie said to herself as she read through files.

"I know of what an 'idiot' is," Kara said from the doorway. "It is a foolish person, is it not? But what is a 'bastard'?"

"Yes, an idiot is a fool," Mattie said, waving her into her office and gesturing to a seat. "A bastard, though; the term originally referred to a person born without their parents being properly married. There was some social stigma involved."

"That is not right! The child has no choice who it is born to!"

"You're right, but in this case, it's mis-applied by me. The person, a military commander, made some foolish, arrogant choices and got his people killed by the enemy." She sighed, "And now, as that person's ultimate superior, it falls to me to carry out one of the final duties - that of notifying the family that their son or daughter has been killed in the line of duty. Worse, there will be no body to recover and return for them to mourn over. If he had taken basic precautions, ones that he had been trained in " She sighed again.

"But he did not. Why?"

"He had a reputation for arrogance, believing he was better than others. This time, it bit him on the arse (she pointed to her rear end), and got others killed that shouldn't have." She sighed, "What makes this worse is that they were undercover, disguised, researching things in preparation for our planned invasion, and didn't get their data out. He decided he didn't need to back it up, to make copies of it, and it was lost along with the team. If he had, if the surviving members of the team had it available to copy and pass on, we would not be risking others in attacking those points and possibly having them killed."

"I I see. The surviving members of that team have the data?"

"They have some of the data, not all of it." She tossed a file folder on the desk, "And now, I have to write a letter to the families, saying their son or daughter died heroically and bravely in the service of the Empire. I have to lie, when their son or their daughter died a meaningless death by torture all because their field commander was an arrogant FOOL who didn't take elementary precautions." She took a deep breath, "I'm sorry, Kara, I'm taking out my frustration and anger on you, when you don't deserve it. You were simply asking a question."

"I I see. I shall leave you to your task." Kara almost fled from the room.

"Lucky you," Mattie said to the door, then took a deep breath and got down to it. She checked the suggested template, then unscrewed her fountain pen, and started to write:

_Dear Mr. and Mrs. Johnsonville;_

_It is with deep regret that I must write you regarding the death of your son, Lieutenant Walter Johnsonville. He died performing his duty as a Special Forces soldier, deep behind enemy lines on the planet of Ewan, gathering vital intelligence information. Unfortunately, there is no way to recover his body for burial. Please accept my condolences on behalf of myself and of the Terran Empire._

_Martha I, R. I._

_Dear Ms. MacAdams;_

_It is with deep regret that I must write you regarding the death of your daughter, PFC Jennifer MacAdams. She died performing her duty as a Special Forces soldier, deep behind enemy lines on the planet of Ewan, gathering vital intelligence information. Unfortunately, there is no way to recover her body for burial. Please accept my most sincere condolences on behalf of myself and of the Terran Empire._

_Martha I, R. I._

_Dear Mrs. Brumly;_

_It is with deep regret that I must write you regarding the death of your daughter, PFC Brenda Brumly. She died performing her duty, deep behind enemy lines on the planet of Ewan, gathering vital intelligence information. Unfortunately, there is no way to recover her body for burial. Please accept my most sincere condolences on behalf of myself and of the Terran Empire._

_Martha I, R. I._

_Dear Mr and Mrs. Higgenbotham;_

_It is with deep regret that I must write you regarding the death of your daughter, PFC Joss Higginbotham. She died performing her duty, deep behind enemy lines on the planet of Ewan, gathering vital intelligence information. Unfortunately, there is no way to recover her body for burial. Please accept my most sincere condolences on behalf of myself and of the Terran Empire._

_Martha I, R. I._

_Dear Mr. and Mrs ... _

Warning, slave training

Wednesday, October 1, 2003: 19:05 (relative)  
Tosul, House St'fan, slave training:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The slave B'ryla watched critically as the large-breasted slave moved to the music. Her long dark hair moved around her as she kept her wrists above her head, left over right, as ordered, and used her two-meter leash chain that secured her to the pole. She wondered who had trained the girl before, and checked her clipboard. Somewhat surprised, the girl was a capture, not a bred slave - she moved like she had grown up in slave dance. The girl was now wrapping her wrists in the chain, moving, rubbing the chain between herself and her hair, the pole between her breasts and her thighs. She sank to the ground as the final drum coda sounded, sinking into a groveling, needful posture of submission. The slave's Enhancement kept her from panting, B'ryla knew how much that intense a dance took out of a slave. She made her way to the pole, reaching up to unlock the slave's leash chain. "Restrict, slave 198a2," and the girl snapped into the Inspection position, hands flashing behind her to cuff herself as her knees bent, her left thigh up, her penalty brands showing. "Release, slave 198a2. That was moderately acceptable, good slave," and the girl whimpered, shifting her groin slightly. She tugged once on the leash chain, pulling the slave up. She wondered slightly about the client's requirement to keep their slaves gagged, blindfolded and hooded, and the somewhat unusual cage bindings on the lower arms. She shrugged, there were other things to worry about. She ignored the slave's moans and pulled her along as another trainer attached the next slave to the pole.

"Up here, slave," B'ryla said, arranging the slave's knees around the widely set posts, then leaning down to adjust the chains that would keep her in place. She moved another small table under her shoulders, adjusting the leash ring over the hood and under the slave's chin, as her head tilted back off the table. The leash was secured, the front panel of the slave's belt was removed, and the instruction device was removed from her canal and set to the side. The small cable leading to the slave's small pierced nerve bundle was left in place. B'ryla kicked the step-stool away and left the slave secured and spread for any male that came along and desired a bit of slave rape.

198a2 moaned to herself, at last she was able to lie back for a moment. She swallowed, moving the slave collar on her throat as she dismissed her wide-spread legs, and the stinging feeling from her finally-empty cunt. She felt a few trickles of sweat and blood leading toward the steel of her slave belt and the plug in her ass, and tried to breathe, and enjoy the flow of air across the hair of her crotch.

"Well, what do we have here? Fresh slaves for our enjoyment. Go on, boys, I'll catch up." The slave girl moaned, and he chuckled as he brushed the hair of her wide-spread crotch with his thumb. She heard the sound of a clipboard and papers, "Well, well. A captured slave." He gently slapped her belly with the clipboard, before hanging it again beside her head. "You're pretty enough for a bred slave, at least, oh, five kilos. Of course, that's when you're wearing that hood." She moaned, pulling weakly against her shackles, and he pulled on one of the small bells hanging from a ring in her nipple. "Don't be foolish. You're a slave; you're not going anywhere. You and I, though, will have some fun before I go to last-meal and you await your next customer. Now then, I think I'll teach you what fun breasts can be, since yours are so pleasantly large, firm, and available "

"Not bad, slave, not bad. You seem to have some natural aptitude for the collar. Once you start formal sexual training, you should grow to be a pleasant armful in your master's furs. I'll give you a five gram coin for our time tonight." There was the sound of a coin in a metal box.

"How is she?" another man asked.

"Former free female, and bio-sculpted. Still, a bit of native skill helps to overcome that." There was the sound of paper and pen, "I'll suggest she go on to intermediate sexual training; see how she does. Possibly even advanced training. Give her a try."

"Thanks, I will," and there was the rustle of clothing. "This is what I do with the fur between your legs, slave."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, October 3, 2003: 08:21 (UTC)  
Terran system, _HIMSS Hexagon_, Operations & Plans:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Imperial Navy Commander 'Sam' Hill, the head of planning for the invasion of the Des system, sipped his coffee as he worked on the planning for Soba White Zero-Ten. The various systems in the Republic each had sections of Soba White, the overall plan for the counter-attack on the Republic. His little section of cubicles with their occupants: Lt. M'ress, a felinoid former naval officer for her home system (and once-captured slave girl), 1Lt. Kelly Chase, once of the Israeli Army and Artillery officer, 1Lt. David Sanford, their Engineer, and Sergei, their Russian Armor officer.

Des had two habitable planets in a binary system, ruled by a pair of sisters, who were the powers-behind-the-throne of their attractive but figurehead husbands. Alpha, an F8 star with an FTL limit of 22.8 light minutes was orbited by the planet Des, with the capital city of Des. Beta, a K5 star with a 15.4 light minute limit, had the planet and city of Ewan, a much cooler world with a greater axial tilt and therefore more pronounced seasons. Ewan also had fewer chains of islands, and those islands were in general much larger and linked by bridges, electric and comm grids.

An alarm pinged at him, and he looked up, then saved his data and copied it to a DataPlaque, then walked a few meters to their section's conference area.

* * *

"Good morning, everyone," he said, connecting his DataPlaque to the small holo projector. He took his seat, opening the file with the Des system, and asked, "How are we?"

Sergei replied, "As we will not have much call for tanks, other than intimidation, we will be working with mostly scout cars and infantry vehicles. This is what I have been concentrating on, as our third planet was taken from us."

"Yes, it made more sense to pair up the single-planet systems," 'Sam' agreed. He took a swallow of his coffee, "That leaves us with Des Alpha and Beta. We also have the large underground tram network under Des and Ewan."

1Lt. Sanford reached out, keying an image into the holo taken by intelligence personnel. It was not a pretty sight - as opposed to clean, brightly lit Terran based systems like the Moscow Metro and the London Underground, this was a dark, closed-in semi-tunnel with puddles of water on the floor, thick, dark and filthy cables on the walls and overheads, and large pipes, a meter or more in diameter with manhole openings and valves. "This was one of the problems we had. There was clearly an active economy on these planets, in these cities, but with slaves to do fetch-and-carry, there didn't seem to be many of them about. These tunnels and the connecting stations answer most of those questions. They don't waste much money on illumination, d cor, or I would assume safety or ventilation, because after all, the users of this system are slaves." He reached out a pencil, inserting it in the holo. "Note the number of thick cables and their locations. These here are third-rail systems for the trains, which are all open-top. The common ground would be the running rails, which seem to be about a meter gauge. Note the sparks thrown off as the rails short to the puddles. These on the walls seem to be coaxial cables and power cables, so there is a comm network, although it seems to be all point-to-point, instead of to a series of distribution frames."

"How elsse would you wire it?" Lt. M'ress asked, her tail flicking behind her wheelie-chair (that she had brought over from her own cubicle).

"The signals people want to run fiber, and I'd agree with them," Lt. Sanford replied. "Instead of a bundle of hundreds of coaxial cables, each eight or ten centimeters or so thick, you have a single fiber cable that's only two or three centimeters thick. Each fiber cable is smaller than a hair and carries more data, and is more secure. It also runs for a longer distance than coax, up to a hundred kilometers. You would then break out that cable and route each of those fiber cables to another location. The same with power - this looks like it's all DC power. That has to be boosted every four or five kilometers, which would explain the stations."

"How so?" Commander Hill asked.

"If they're running DC power for their subway's traction current, it's going to be around six or seven hundred volts. That has to be boosted every four to five kilometers, so they're going to put everything, pumps for water and sewage; booster transformers for power and comms into those stations. If I were designing them, that's also where I would put the Planetary Guard's precinct stations with cells to hold anyone they arrest. That's also a decent spacing for the slaves, it allows them to walk between the stations and their destinations. Up above we have reports of private carriages available for the free persons to ride." He reached forward and called up another image. "Yes, here we are. I count five floors here, and it looks like about ten or twelve meters between the tracks and the ceiling of that tunnel. That's another three floors or so." He switched back. "So, Sergei, we go block-to-block and building-to-building searching and clearing. We block off a street above and below with razor wire barricades; do the search and clear, and mark that street and section secure. We move the barricade and do it all over again. The troops can use the stations as points for company level field kitchens, showers, resupply and command posts, and so forth."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, October 4, 2003: 12:04 (PDT:UTC -7)  
Terra, Seattle, University Village Shopping Centre:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Um, hello?" the young blonde asked as she peeked in the door.

"Good morning! Er (He checked his watch.) Sorry, good afternoon!" the very large, dark sergeant replied as he cradled a cup of coffee. He stood up, towering over the petite young woman and her young daughter. "I'm Sergeant Hillard, and you are?"

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry. Carrie Zorbis, and this is my daughter Nancy. My birthday was drawn and I well, I thought I'd come by and "

"See what you were getting into?" He offered a huge paw, "They call me Tiny; I don't know why." He grinned, "The way of nicknames, I suppose." He checked his watch again, "I don't have anyone at the moment, would you like to come and sit down, have a seat, I see Nancy has a bottle of juice, and you've been down the street to Starbucks. We've got more juice in the 'fridge if she needs it." He raised his own mug, "Army coffee. Guaranteed to wake the dead and get them on their feet and shooting." He moved one of his visitors chairs and waited until they sat down. Cradling his own mug, "Now then, let's clear the air. You don't want to be here. You're terrified about leaving home, leaving your daughter behind with relatives, and going into the Army. Into combat. To be honest, the Army would rather have all volunteers, but the numbers don't work out that way. Volunteers are better motivated, but unfortunately, those are the cards we've all drawn. Life sucks, we have to deal with it." He regarded her over his coffee mug. "Your being here, going into this strange, terrifying new world, despite your fears, leads me to think you'll do all right. Yes, you'll be going off to Basic at Camp Katherine, where you'll go into Infantry, unless (he raised an eyebrow), you have something that qualifies you for another MOS."

"MOS?" (She pronounced it 'moss'.)

"Military Occupational Specialty," he clarified. "For instance, do you have a pilot's license, or are a certified engineer of some kind?"

She shook her head, "I'm an administrative well, a secretary."

"You're going to be in the best shape of your life," he commented. "Infantry rides quite a bit, but there's also a lot of hiking, wearing a ruck a backpack. You're also going to be terrified enough to piss yourself the first time someone shoots at you. I did, and all I could find to hide behind was this park's little tiny trash can." He gestured at himself, "As you can see, there's more of me than there is of a trash can, and the Cubans oh, this was in Panama were using high power cartridges, and all I had was this piddly little M-16 and a five-five-six cartridge." He was silent for a minute, then shook himself. "Sorry. The point is that in the Infantry, the people in your squad and your company become closer than brothers and now, sisters. They have your back because you've got theirs. Yes, objectively in combat your best chance of individual survival - note I said individual - is to run. You don't because you'd be leaving your buddies behind; your brothers and sisters. Someone else got that Cuban off my back. That doesn't mean there are no injuries or fatalities, and the P90 and its 5.7x28mm cartridge are well designed, but still I'm old fashioned. I prefer a Colt .45 in my hand instead of a 9mm." He was silent again, then shook himself. "You have brothers or sisters?"

"One brother in Florida, parents in Ohio."

"Ever fight with them? Loud, screaming matches, slamming doors, the whole thing?"

"Yes."

"Yet if the chips were down, your brother needed a kidney or something to save his life, you'd do it?"

"Yes, of course."

"Same thing. Your brother has habits that probably annoy the (He glanced at little Nancy.) Heck out of you, but you'll still step up and donate that kidney. You'll have squad-mates that snore, that argue politics or religion, who do nothing but gamble - I had one guy in my squad that went through a couple hundred rounds a week at the pistol range. He kept trying to improve himself, but he was still a lousy shot. He barely qualified with the pistol, but give him a rifle and he shot expert - he could shoot the wings off a fly at five hundred meters. Go figure." He sighed, then took a swallow of coffee. "So. Let's see where you are, paper-work wise."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, October 6, 2003: 10:46 (EDT:UTC -5)  
Terra, Cleveland Municipal Building:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"I hate this duty," First Sergeant Clark said as she entered the elevator. "I want to cry along with them, especially the mothers. And at work "

"Only gonna get worse, Cindy," Sgt. Anderson said.

"I know, Pam. I know." The elevator 'dinged' at their floor, and she took a deep breath, then strode up to the receptionist. "Good morning. We'd like to see Ms. Irene Higginbotham, in private if possible."

The receptionist blinked, seeing the two women dressed in immaculate Imperial Army uniforms, one carrying a manila envelope, wooden box and a folded flag. She blinked again, she had HEARD about this, but to see it in real life "Let me call, please."

"Mrs. Irene Higginbotham? May we speak privately?"

"You can say it here," a rail thin woman dressed in an expensive suit said nastily.

Both sergeants, both combat veterans, turned and locked hard, cold eyes on her. Irene was trembling, making small whimpering sounds. First Sergeant Clark said in a voice that could have frozen hydrogen, "I really think privacy would be preferred."

Mary Lou Thompson actually took a step back before rallying. After all, they couldn't actually DO anything to her She checked her watch, "Conference room. Mrs. Higginbotham can show you where it is. You have until eleven sharp. One minute after that, I'm calling the police to have you arrested for trespassing."

Sgt. Anderson's right fingers moved, as if she was handling the butt of a gun. Her gaze was laser-like and promised pain. She took half a step forward, and Mary Lou stumbled back, but the sergeant just turned and extended a hand to Irene, her eyes shifting to warm sympathy. "Irene?"

* * *

"**_NOOOOO_** ! " The entire floor heard the scream.

* * *

Mary Lou Thompson smiled to herself as she drove to class. She was working on her JD(11) degree and was only a few credits shy of it. Once she took the exam, she could set up in private practice - she was concentrating on children and family law. She looked in the rear-view mirror as she heard a police siren behind her and saw the flashing lights. Frowning, she looked at the dash. Yes, she was a few miles over the limit, but no more than five or ten. She flicked her turn signal and pulled over.

"Driver, put the car in park, turn off the engine, and put the keys on the top of the car," the police said from behind her. She frowned, but put the car in park. Two other police cars pulled up behind the first, all with lights flashing. "Driver, second notice. Turn off the engine and put the keys on the top of the car. Do it now!" Grumbling, she rolled down the window and called, "I'll be late!"

"Driver, third and final warning. Turn off the engine and put the keys on the top of the car. Do it now!"

Cursing under her breath, she did as they demanded. By now there were five police cars with flashing lights and officers with drawn guns. As one approached, she leaned out, "I hope you know who you're dealing with! I'll be late!"

"We know this vehicle was reported stolen. Keep your hands on the top of your head, reach around and open the door from the outside. Do it now!" Thinking and muttering nasty things, she struggled and got the door open, the officer reached forward and grabbing her, shoving her against the side of the car and handcuffing her before twisting her arm up and marching her to the side of the road. She saw her purse dumped all over the back of her car, some of it rolling over to spill on the road, while her briefcase, notebooks, and textbooks were searched. "What have we here?" one of the officers called. "Looks like coke to me. Six ounces or so, in little baggies."

"I've got a little pocket pistol in her purse," another said. The arresting officer crouched down next to her, "Got a permit for the pistol? Carrying concealed without one is a felony, as is possession with intent to distribute."

"I never!" she sputtered.

"All recorded on video. Jas, you want to do the preliminary search?"

"Sure," a large black woman said. She picked Mary Lou up effortlessly, slammed her against the trunk of her Mercedes, and started to run her hands down her body. "Folder clipped to her skirt's waistband," she said, showing it off for the cameras. "That's two counts of carrying concealed, ma'am. You're under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights?" Numbly, Mary Lou nodded, and Jas said, "Verbal response, please. Do you understand these rights?"

"Yes, but but I'm innocent!"

"Prisons are full of innocent people." Jas replied. She was marched to a police car, seated on the hard plastic seat and buckled into place. Jas leaned next to her ear just before she slammed the door and whispered, "Semper Fi."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Saturday, October 11, 2003: 05:01 (relative)  
Ewan, Port, customs:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The customs official yawned and sipped his tea as he studied the forms on the board. In the traditional place was the small envelope with his customary gift. "Three hands of slaves, and four tons of machine parts and chemicals?" he asked. "Anything dangerous in there?"

"Some of the slaves' training could put a man at risk, if you know what I mean," the white-haired Captain of the small trader replied. He made a motion with his eyebrows, and waved his smelly leaf-stick around.

He waved the form-board to move the smoke away. "As long as it's not some of that vegetable you're inhaling." He signed and stamped the forms where he needed to, pocketing the gift, and handed the forms back, keeping his set. "After carefully searching the shipment and examining each case, I see no harm to Ewan, and clear this freight."

"Your care and diligence do you credit," the Captain said. "I wish you good day." He turned and waved to another hominid, one with darker skin, cradling a large weapon. "BA, let's get 'em going!" The BA person grunted and turned toward the ship.

* * *

"Where is mistress?" 198a2 heard a woman mutter. "She's supposed to be here " She sighed, then said, "All right, you lot. Inspection position, and listen: ("The Imperial Gardens' beauty is but a pale, insignificant shadow of the Tsaritsa's own.")

Like a fog lifting away, Joss Higginbotham blinked in her hood, under her blindfold. She heard, "I'm your First Girl. Our mistress isn't at the rendezvous, so I'm going with the alternate plan. I'm MI-6, so what I have to do may not be pretty, but we'll get the job done. Everyone back in their right mind? Whimper if not." Josh waited and didn't hear anything. "Righty-ho. Fifteen of you lot, we'll need to ride the underground and do a bit of walking to get to a safe-house before I can remove your blindfolds and hoods. Your gags are sealed by the port-master. Local law, new slaves wear them for the first month, our master then needs to have them removed. A slave girl, even a First Girl can't do that. On your feet, I'm going to shorten your leash chains so it will be a bit easier for you to maneuver."

"So, welcome to the planet and city of Ewan," the First Girl said later. "We've had a right bollixed mission. First, our bloody Leftenant got himself and most of our staff arrested and tortured. There are two others besides myself, I wasn't picked up because I'm First Girl and I was about doing other things. I was fortunate and saw them before they saw me, and I rabbited. Otherwise I'd be hanging from a public torture frame right now. Second, same bloody Leftenant didn't back up the data, so we've got to redo it. Bloody arse. First priority is the subspace comm units. They're charging batteries now, so we'll need to move them once we find new safe-houses. The old ones are contaminated - we don't know if Leftenent Arse gave them up or not. We'll abandon this one in a few minutes, and never return to it, because he knew about it. I've got a new one I'll take you to, but one of the first things you lot need to do is find at least three new safe-houses for each of you, so you have someplace to rabbit. At least one should be underground, to block the collar transmitters. You do not tell me where they are. We'll meet in groups of no more than three." There was a bell that rang, and First said "Three of you, make sure the batteries are charged and then unplug them. Go by one of the rivers, if someone official asks, throw them in."

"So, here's the story. We've imported four tonnes of equipment and chemicals. That's MP5's and 9mm ammo that's to be broken up and divided up into lots. We've got reload equipment as well as three replacement subspace comm units and I've encryption key disks. That's for reports; photos, diagrams and such get scanned and sent by courier." First looked around, then said, "With mistress vanished, our funding is also gone. I've a bit of tungsten laid by, but that means we need another source. I'll request volunteers for the first round of coin girl while the others prep." Josh surprised herself by raising her hand. "Good. That will hopefully keep us in rations and water. We need to rediscover the locations, entrances, and what else we might regarding both the Planetary Guard and government offices, including the newspapers, magazines and telly. This we back up to our three transmitters, I've coordinates to send. Once we have that sent off, we can then start recruiting dis-satisfied slave girls and start our little guerrilla war. We target the thugs of the Planetary Guard, girls. We want them afraid to go out of their little hidey-holes; because if they do, it means death."

The once-again hooded slave girl 198a2 followed along behind her First Girl, kneeling where ordered, her leash chain locking into a ring. "There, slave. This slave believes this will be a profitable place for you, outside the Ministry of Correct Thought. Be profitable for our master." She then heard a whisper, "Remember what you can about conversations. They believe us animals, they will not watch what they say before us, any more than they would a squirrel." First moved back, "I shall be along later to collect you for our master. Be a good slave. Release." 198a2 moaned as the device locked in her cunt sent waves of pleasure to her clitoris. There was a rattle of chain as First took another slave off.

* * *

"So I told him, 'Your script comes very close to criticizing Mistress T'bani. We can't have that.' He took himself and his script off away to his hovel. Award-winning comedy show, my wrinkled bum!" He thrust into the dark-haired slave with large breasts and she moaned; in pleasure, he imagined. She was slave, it did not matter. Pulling her tight, he twisted her breasts in his hands, "Ah ah AH! I deliver! Can she take it all?"

"I would think so, there is evidence she has before," his friend said from another slave, who screamed into her ring-gag, her eyes wide as he pumped her face. "I have not seen her before, is she new?"

198a2's temporary master groped her hooded head, "I believe so, there is evidence of the port-master's seal on her gag. She is worth at least six, I think. I wonder if her master will sell her." He pulled out and cleaned his tool off on her hair. "Ah. A good way to relieve the morning's stress before I sit to enjoy mid-meal." He pulled the slave up, reseating the instruction device in her and sealing her slave belt tight. "I am in a good mood; fifty grams for the slave. She was a good slave, very relaxing." He dropped the coin in the girl's box. "Come, aren't you finished yet?" He put the slave back in position, "Restrict, girl. Good slave," and she quivered, dropping into Inspection as he walked off.

* * *

"Have a pleasant first day on Ewan?" First asked as Joss was 'cleansed'. First re-inserted the instruction device and closed her slave belt's front panel tightly. "Sorry, I have no way to remove that thing from your clit, and I was told cutting the cable would be Bad. I'm wearing one too." She released the slave girl from the 'rape table', then took up the girl's leash. "Come, we'll collect the others."

"Sorry about the stench," First said to her short coffle of still-hooded slave girls. "This is a ventilation tower for the underground. You're going across a metal grid, above you is a mesh which catch most of the droppings for a large, local carrion bird. That's why you smell rotted meat, but this is a little hidey-hole I've found. Turn and walk sideways now, you'll feel cables on your bodies."

"Welcome to my very temporary home," First said as she removed the blindfold's eye patches. Joss blinked several times as the small cavern came into view. It was dimly lit, with only a single working light. Thick, dirty cables came in; connected to steel boxes. She turned to look around, the opening they had come through was perhaps thirty centimeters (12") across, which is why she and the other girls had dirt smeared on their bodies, legs and breasts. At least it was warmer than the outside, she had been cold while chained down for rape. She tried to speak, but was still wearing her elaborate gag and could only whimper.

"Righty-ho," First said, and Joss turned to look at her. The first impression was 'average'. Aside from the three lit rings of a First Girl on her neck above her own slave collar, First was a petite brunette with long, curly hair and brown eyes, wearing a rather filthy white slave smock and skirt. "I'd offer you a seat and drinks, but my servants seem to have deserted me. Let me give you lot a status report." She took a parade rest position, "We were inserted here with four Special Forces troopers, an intel specialist covered as a free female, who is the 'mistress' I've mentioned, myself and four other slave girls. Our orders were to first locate the vital government buildings, secure plans and the location of entrances, identify and track the locations of top ministers and local business types, and lastly to develop, train and arm a force of guerrilla slave girls. This way, when the invasion drops in, they've got all the information they need to take the buildings, kidnap the top echelon, and take advantage of the terror and confusion our armed slaves would have generated."

Joss nodded along with the other new girls. "This is where things went pear-shaped," First continued. "Lt. Johnsonville, for his own reasons, did not back up the location and personnel data we had acquired. He kept it all to himself, so when the local Guard caught a lucky break and captured him along with his three mates, we were in the shite. I've seen them hanging on torture frames outside the planetary Guard headquarters. They still seem to be alive, although any sort of rescue mission is out of the question." She gestured at herself, "We've a total of eighteen slave girls right now. One of our girls was with Mistress Hodges when she vanished. I don't know if Mistress was burned and is in a collar or interrogation cell now, but my two Second Girls and I haven't seen either of them for almost a day. I shifted to backups, and there's still message flags out " First shrugged. "We carry on."

"As I said this morning, we need to acquire funding with Mistress Hodges vanished. Slaves, especially First Girls such as I, can operate along the fringes, we're assumed to be buying and selling for our owners. I can therefore buy food, such as slave gruel, which is filling and nutritious, but not particularly tasty. However, I need to pay cash. Second point is shelter." She waved at the small room, "You can see the accommodations, however, there are more comfortable places down here in the underground, along with several water main leaks for cold showers, and the all-important suction stations. However, there are also gangs of slave girls who have improvised or stolen weapons, including needlers, and who hold various patches of territory. They cannot go above ground, because they are escaped slaves, and their collar transmitters would work there. Slaves can go underground through various ways, even though the Guard controls the entrances and exits, but the public suction stations are almost all above ground, and one does need to pee."

One of the new girls whimpered and shifted, leaning forward. First nodded. "The few stations underground are part of those patches. Girls like we are can use them, but must pay a rental fee to the gangs controlling them; the same with the cold-water showers. The same type of deal exists with removing your gags, normally Mistress Hodges would arrange for that with the Port-master, as she did for my own gag and the other two girls, but as she's vanished, we'll have to deal with our gangs of black-market slave girls, which require cash or trade. Take a look at your neighbor's gag," and Joss leaned forward to look at another girl's gag. While she could see the zipper and lock, and the adjustment straps, they were covered with three green, circular disks, connected with thin steel wires. First commented, "I am told, but have no way to verify, that those disks are explosives, and as you will note, not only are they right above your brain stem and spinal cord, they are connected to the gag and presumably your Enhancement module, which lies underneath the brain stem and is connected to your collar. If I try to remove it, there is a strong possibility that I shall muck it up, and kill you. This is not an optimal solution. Best for now to leave it in place. While the gag is uncomfortable, it isn't going to kill you to wear it." One of the other girls moaned and whimpered.

First continued, "We do have some advantages. We have various bits of electronics which are more advanced than exists on planet. The general tech level here is roughly 1930's equivalent, which means large, delicate thermionic valves; with the exception of the central power plant, which runs on Fuel. That is one of the primary targets for our invasion, of course. The government runs a network of spy slaves, who are owned by Lord Chichester. When you go through one of the government checkpoints, the Guard will read your hip implant, determining your owner. I will reset yours to be Lord Chichester. The drawback is that the various gangs also know that, and will search out and then kill slaves with his ownership on the implant."

Joss whimpered and thrust out her throat with her own collar. "The Guard doesn't have anything like wireless networks," First said. "They go by printed forms of hot-lists on clipboards at the checkpoints, which are permanent. If your collar says you're wanted, but your hip implant says you're owned by one of the major players, they will probably let you go. Probably. They don't want to irritate those major players, who use various disguises for their slaves, one of which is to mark them as escaped. They would probably grope you, and might rough you up, but then again, we're slave girls, that's part of the collar."

* * *

The guard-slave raised her hand, "First."

"Pleasant night," First replied. "Passage toll for myself and four new slaves," she said. "Suction, shower, as well. What's the current rate for removing a Port-master's gag?"

"Three hundred fifty grams each," the guard said, examining the four re-hooded slaves in First's coffle. "Do all four at once for a kilo. We have a wiring diagram." She fingered a slave's belled nipple, "You didn't come in through an official entrance, did you?"

"Through the southeast air intake." First sighed, "Can't afford that now, though."

"I thought I smelled dead meat." Coins were exchanged, and an escort slave was arranged. "Pleasant night, First."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, October 13, 2003: 07:30 (UTC)  
Terran system, Passenger Dock 'B':  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

Kathy Higginbotham was fortunate to have a window seat aboard the pinnace as it approached the space station and the docked assault carrier. To the station's port side docking arms and umbilicals could be seen, on the ship's flank dozens of assault craft were docked. She and the other troops had been briefed, inside each landing craft were armored vehicles, artillery, trucks filled with supplies, and the jump seats for the infantry that would accompany them.

Getting closer, she could see the floodlit ship's name: _ITNS Anzio_ and below it _LCA 0013_. She touched a pocket of her fatigues, inside it was the printout that had her berthing and messing assignment, the particular vehicle and the assault craft it was stored in. Once she had her barracks bag secured, she was allowed some free time to adjust to the time zone difference, and while she could nap in her hammock, she also needed (and wanted) to check out the brand-new tank she would be driving into combat - on whatever world that would be.

Corporal 'Frankie' Rabat, their tank commander, leaned forward, peering through the port, grunted, then turned to his right, where their gunner, Oskar Fritsch, was seated on the aisle. He was tilted back, headphones on, listening to music. "Nervous?" Frankie asked.

"Isn't everyone?" Kathy replied.

"I have total confidence in our fearless leader," Oskar put in, his eyes still closed. "Of course, that depends on which fearless leader we're talking about."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, October 15, 2003: 08:38 (UTC)  
Hour 291.38/708.00  
Luna, Port Oldridge, HIM Offices:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Well, at least one newspaper seems to be on top of things," the Empress said, tossing the Sunday broadsheet _Welt am Sonntag_ on the conference table. The headline above the fold read: Das Imperium schl gt zur ck! ("The Empire strikes back!") Heinrike reached out to collect it, and Ms. Wayne asked, "What's the status of the invasion fleets we're sending out?"

"Eh?" the former paratrooper asked. "Ach. Sorry. Hometown newspaper." She folded it and put it next to her binder of papers. "The two task groups destined for the Des system are boarding on schedule, the one for Melotte is due to leave Saturday the twenty-fifth. Accounting for transit times, they should all arrive and strike on schedule."

"Good. Mr. Kim, the Commerce Ministry?"

The Korean nodded. "Unemployment continues to shrink globally. The United States is lagging behind, due to their Congress and specifically three Senators blocking necessary legislation to adjust their tax code."

"While I need to constantly negotiate, I still prefer the single chamber and our Assembly," Prime Minister Fleur Delacour put in. "It makes me want to ... correct ... those Senators."

"We'll leave them to President Ross," the Empress said. "Please continue, Mr. Kim."

"Yes. Surprisingly, the major stumbling block is converting attack helicopter designs to anti-gravity. As such, we are for now deploying with refurbished American designs from their aircraft bone-yards in Arizona. This means an additional fuel supply and parts for those aircraft, as those designs are obsolete, and the manufacturers do not have various jigs and dies available; so we must purchase additional aircraft in order to strip them for parts. The only bright spots are the electronics and armaments can be easily adapted."

Warning, slave abuse

Saturday, October 18, 2003: 06:11 (relative)  
Ewan, City of Ewan, public park:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Ah, the large-breasted slave is back, and her master has thoughtfully chained her out! How courteous!" The slave girl 198a2 heard before her hips were grabbed, and she was adjusted to her temporary master's preference. Joss, now knowing more of what was happening, moaned and whimpered, thrusting her pelvis toward her use-master. "Eager, isn't she? A wonderful way to start the work-day!" The front of her slave belt was removed, the instruction device was removed from her cunt and hung by the cable over her left hip, and Joss inched forward. "She is eager, isn't she? One moment, little slave, and I shall give you the first rape of this day!"

* * *

"Ah, that was good, very good," her sated use-master said. His hands on her hips pushed him upright, "There are times, little slave, when I envy you your simple, easy life. No stress, no worries, just lie back and enjoy while your master does all the work." Joss gave a non-committal whimper and he pulled out of her, sliding the instruction device back into her messy cunt. "Ah, I was so eager to use you this morning I fear I have misplaced the front of your slave belt! No worries, I shall adjust my fee to your master - three hundred grams!" There was the sound of coins in her box, and then the sound of clothing being adjusted.

"Does this belong to that slave?" another master asked.

"Yes, it does!" the first said. "I had just paid her master for a replacement part. Ah, I shall take it out of her this day at half-meal," and he tugged at one of her belled nipples. "She is wonderfully excited this morning. Enjoy yourself with her."

"I shall," and the second master raised her left breast a bit, sliding the metal part under the tissue to hold it in place. "My little trick so I do not lose such an important part." He groped her hood, "Ah, a new slave, and from your previous use-master, an enthusiastic one. You may hear my voice on the government news, if your master allows you to listen." The instruction device was once again removed, clothing and the slave were adjusted, and Joss once again shifted toward her new use-master. "Excellent! I like to start a slave's instruction with this," and the slave screamed in pain into her gag.

'OW! That fuckin' HURT! I'll kill this son-of-a-bitch,' she thought, and concentrated on remembering his voice.

* * *

Joss felt a device clamp onto her left hip, above her implant, while a slave girl's voice said, "Bend over, slave." She felt a hand on the back of her collar, and heard a beep, then both her head and hip were released. Her leash pulled her forward, and First said, "Down the ramp, slaves."

"Here we are, our little home," First said with the sound of a door closing. Joss immediately turned and presented her still back-bound arms in her direction with a sharp whimper. "But we need you to earn money for us," First objected. Joss whimpered again through her gag, together with stamping her foot (and jingling the bell on her shackle). First tried again, "But mistress needs to " Another slave growled through her gag, and a girl said, "Undo them, mistress. If they are kept too long in that position, they may have nerve damage."

"Oh, bloody... All right. Where's the tool box?"

With a tug, the hood and then the blindfold were removed, and a kneeling Joss could see again. She bent forward as First did something to her arms, and with a click, she could once again use her arms. Shaking them out, she watched as First freed the other slave girls' arms. She gave a sharp whimper and tugged at her leash chain. First looked over at her, "That takes a different screwdriver bit. Let me finish these." Joss grunted through her gag, stood and stretched. Shaking out her arms again, she extracted her wand from the lattice-work on her lower arms, and fingered the back of her gag, and the connecting wires and the three disks of the Port-master's security seal. She tapped her wand on the first of them, thinking '_Alohomora_', and felt the disk release. Pleased with her experiment, she threw the disk across the compartment. That got the attention of one of the earlier girls. "How did you " she asked, and Joss held up her wand.

* * *

"The problem," one of the other new girls said after they had been freed of their hoods and gags, "Is that we are the Queen's Own Special Forces, and we have a mission to accomplish. The fact that some of ours have been captured is unfortunate, but does not cancel the mission. We need to re-acquire that location data for the orbital drop commandos, we also need to identify the primary subjects' movements, scheduling, and locations. Where they are likely to be at any particular time of the day, so the snatch teams can grab them."

"How do you think so?" First asked.

"You're a spy. MI-6 I believe you said," Joss answered. "Special Forces are similar, but different. You hide in the shadows; we strike from the shadows."

"And this matters how?"

"We need to do two things - supply and intelligence," Joss answered. "The first is easy - we use the enemy as a means of supply. If we can't acquire it from the black market, we take it from them. The second "

"Wait," First said, raising her hand. "Please explain your first point."

"Simple. We need food, supplies, cash. We need medical support, and more personnel than we have here," Joss replied, gesturing around the somewhat larger cable compartment. "Yet we have already dealt with one group of slave girls - the ones you bought a shower and food from that first day. What is your estimate as to their strength, and what about the competing gangs?" The other Special Forces girls were nodding.

"Ah." First sat back and thought. "I would estimate a few hundred, perhaps a total of two thousand dissident slave girls in the city."

"And the total population of slaves in this city?"

"I believe about six million. I'm not certain of the exact figure," First replied. She sat back on her heels, "I believe I see where this is headed. The first step is to assume control of one or more of these gangs of refugee slaves, and thus control the underground and the black market. How do you plan to do this?"

"The first step would be to take over the local gang. They may have numbers, but "

Another girl finished, "WE have guns."

Warning, slave abuse

Monday, October 20, 2003: 06:11 (relative)  
Ewan, City of Ewan, underground:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Restrict," the young woman said, and before her, slaves immediately knelt into the Inspection position, left leg up to show their penalty brands, arms and wrists secured behind them. "Voice off," she added, then "Kneel, House Slave position." The slave girls shifted into a new position, knees wide, back straight, head down, feet ready to stand and serve.

"I apologize," the young, dark haired and busty girl said, "For treating you as slaves." She touched her own lit slave collar, then added, "Heads up, please. It's not right to treat your hopeful allies like that, but this way, I can get said what I want without an argument. You'll be able to ask us questions in a minute. However, for now, I want those of you whose previous masters were in the Planetary Guard to move and kneel to my left, others to move and kneel to my right." She gestured, and the slaves stood, re-arranging themselves.

"As we are Enhanced, and therefore cannot lie, I will ask if anyone still has feelings for a master? If so, please stand, and any un-Enhanced slaves, please kneel over there with First." She pointed, and a few slaves, including half-a-dozen un-Enhanced slaves moved over to where she pointed. "Thank you. We are all slaves who are wanted by the planetary authorities. For most of you, that's because you've escaped your masters, because you want some say in your life, that despite your being collared, branded and sold as a slave girl, you want to be mistress of yourself. You know the penalties for a disobedient slave, for escape, if masters and the Guard catches you; you'll suffer death by slow, public torture as a lesson to other slaves. Yet you still went ahead and did it. That took a great deal of courage."

She took a few steps, then turned and stepped back. "You've banded together down here for mutual security. You know these tunnels, the dirt and the vermin and the dark better than anyone who lives up above. Yet I think you'd like the chance to stand in the sunlight, be clean, feel the fresh air, eat good food, drink pure water, and go where you'd like to. The only thing keeping you down is this." She tapped her own collar. "Some of you are bred slaves, some of you are captured. Some of you were bio-sculpted and then collared (she pointed to herself), branded and sold as slaves." She looked around, then finished, "What ties us together are the collars. That we have finally said, 'Enough! No more!' and taken that enormous first step." She looked around again, then said, "Voices on. Release! Now what are your questions?"

One girl stood. "This slave is a bred slave, a model 128 chase slave," she said, swirling her long red hair behind her, over her cuffed hands. "This slave requires from mistress more information. How does mistress plan on granting her slaves her spoken desires? Mistress has stated that mistress is Enhanced, but did not, WAS not forced to her knees. How does mistress plan on avoiding the collar transmitters that all slaves wear; that give masters the location of slaves, that can only be blocked by moving, as this slave and other slaves have; deep underground? This slave requires a great deal more information from mistress."

"First, we have a slicer, who can give each girl control over her own collar and Enhancement," and to prove it, Joss changed her collar lights, from the standard yellow common collar to yellow and green, a judicial collar, then to the Imperial colors of black, light blue and green. Since she did it while standing in front of the group, without any additional equipment, the girls were impressed. "We will ask you to choose up to five girls, we will take them to our slicer. We will blindfold them for her security, but we will not bind them. We will make suggestions, but let each girl choose her own settings for her collar."

"Can you remove them? Can we be free of our collars?"

"No, we cannot," another Terran girl replied. "Sorry. The best we can offer you is control over them."

The still-bound slaves started to whisper among themselves, and the chase slave turned and glared at them. She turned back, shaking back her hair and standing straight. She was naked, cuffed and wore a red collar on her throat above a black steel ring collar and leash that sat on her collarbone. Her filthy red hair hung past her knees, along with a 'tail' of just-as-dirty red hair that hung from the rear of her slave belt. Joss looked her up and down, her shackled, belled ankles, the scarred knees, her multiple brands on her left thigh, the tight black steel of her slave belt, the bells on her full breasts, and her clear blue eyes, wary but hopeful. "This slave desires to know what and who mistress is, who mistress represents. This slave is First Slave of this group of slaves. This slave needs more information before this slave will kneel and cross this group of slaves' wrists to any new mistress."

"Fair enough," Joss replied. She rubbed her chin for a minute, "Are you aware that the owners of this planet, the 'High Republic of Sodolokve' have started a war with another star nation? Ours, the Terran Empire."

"This slave is aware of the Republic, but has not given much thought " she trailed off, and her eyes widened. "Mistress and her group are spies of the other Empire?"

"Yes and no," Joss replied. "Yes, we are Imperials, but no, we are not spies. We are Special Forces troops, an Army unit that is inserted to get information and disrupt the enemy government before the Empire invades."

"Before any of you start to consider selling us to the Guard, think first," First put in. "First, would you be believed? Second, if you are believed, how would you be rewarded?"

"This slave could be reunited with master " one blonde slave said dreamily from the side.

"This slave inquires of the slave if it is the same master that punished the slave for mistakes that were not the slave's fault?" the chase slave asked dryly. "The same master that bought and sold the slave? Is that the master of the slave's heart?" She turned to look at the group. "This slave asks if any slave will risk going up, revealing the slave as alive and an escaped slave for public punishment? Extended public punishment in the government square? Even if the slave is believed, why should this slave, or any slave, trust the word of Owners?" She turned, "Why should this slave trust mistress? This slave is being allowed to question mistress, but this slave risks trading one master's collar for mistress' collar."

"Fair enough," Joss replied. "Why should we trust you, especially with weapons?" There was a gasp, and the chase slave asked warily, "This slave inquires mistress will trust the slaves with weapons?"

"How else can you kill the Planetary Guard?" This received an even larger gasp of shock. "We will trust you with weapons and training. We will be with you, sharing in your successes and failures. Will you accept our orders, even if it means NOT killing?"

"Mistress will please explain." It was not a request.

"We need to accomplish several things," one of the Terran girls said. "We need to track various high-ranking persons, so we know at any time where they are. We need to precisely identify locations, such as weapons storage bunkers, Guard barracks, garages for the regime's hover tanks and grav tanks, and we need locations nearby where they can be watched and targeted. We also need proper food, water, medical supplies, and money, as well as to put fear into the Guard. We think the best way to do that is to take them from the Guard, which means attacking their supply trucks and killing the escorting Guard. When word gets around, despite what the Ministry of Correct Thought says, that going on a supply trip, or manning a Guard checkpoint, is likely to get them killed, they won't go out."

"The Guard is NOT a military force," Joss said with contempt. "They are thugs. Bullies, who have been taking from those weaker than they are for years. When you confront a bully, they break. When the Guard finds the remains of one of our attacks, especially when they learn it was done by cloaked females, they will be enraged, but it is driven by fear. What do slave owners fear above all?"

"Masters no, Owners fear a slave revolt " the chase slave said with a whisper. "Is that what mistress proposes?"

"Yes."

"How will this attack proceed?" one of the other girls called.

"Let us send those who you choose off to have their collars reset," First said. "While that is done, which will take a few hours, we will answer all your questions we can."

"This slave finds that acceptable, however this slave wants a gesture of trust. As mistress is taking slaves, this slave desires that mistress cross her wrists to us. An exchange of slaves, as it were."

The Terrans looked at each other. "How so?" Joss said.

"As mistress' group treats our slaves, we shall treat mistress." She turned and offered her bound wrists to Joss.

She stepped forward to release them. "As we can't own slaves I agree," Joss said and knelt before the chase slave, head down, wrists extended and crossed. "I submit as slave to mistress. Beat me, bind me, brand me (she paused), chain me, own me."

The chase slave rubbed her wrists as she reached forward, gripping Joss' wrists. "This slave accepts mistress as a use-slave." She pulled, twisted, and Joss was once again back-cuffed and flat on her belly. "Mistress is young, and inexperienced. Former mistress did not put any conditions on her submission," she observed. "Secure this slave," and turned. "You five will go with former mistress' people." She turned back, kneeling and extended her own wrists to First. "This slave submits for her people, with the conditions as specified, good for six standard months. This slave will then re-negotiate with the Terrans, was it?"

"It is," First said, stepping forward to grip the chase slave's wrists. "Come, let us discuss plans."

* * *

"The former mistress will observe how a slave is properly secured," Joss was told. She struggled against the long tube of the feeding gag being inserted, but was held by four girls while a fifth inserted it. It was tightened into place, then the wire cage (which included her wand) was removed from her lower arms. These were pulled behind her, and a steel cable being woven around and through those shackles on her wrists. She struggled, she vaguely remembered something about iron and steel blocking magic. "And now, the former mistress, now the low slave will kindly observe the low slave's arms and wrists," as the cable was wrapped around a small steel sphere that was placed over her clenched fists. "The low slave shows signs of anger, but the low slave will not be able to act on the low slave's anger. The low slave has submitted to our First Girl, and will be treated as what she is; a low slave." The cable was clamped off inside the wrist-sphere, and was screwed closed, and a Port-master's ornate green seal was clamped into place around the wrists. "Now, the arms of the slave are secure. The next step is the slave's head," and a matching steel sphere was shown. "The low slave's collar and Enhancement will be reset, the low slave will wear a red collar. When the agreement First is negotiating is concluded, the low slave will be returned intact to her owners."

"And where is my girl?" First asked angrily.

"The former mistress, now low slave, will be returned to the slave's First Girl upon completion of this contract," the chase slave replied. She crossed her arms, "This slave was understanding that First Girl desired numbers of motivated slaves in order to slay not only the Greys, but to monitor the activities of assorted Owners. This slave can obtain those motivated slaves, but this slave requires a guarantee from First Girl. Is First Girl willing to sacrifice First Girl's mission for a low slave?"

"No " First replied. "As long as she remains healthy."

"As healthy as any other slave, my mistress," the chase slave replied. "Shall emissaries be sent to the other groups, my mistress?"

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, October 20, 2003: 11:14 (UTC)  
_ITNS Anzio_, underway:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Now hear this, now hear this. Stand by for the Captain," the speaker blared. There was a cough, then the passengers and crew heard. "Now that we have passed both the warp limit and the system limit, I am opening our sealed orders." There was the sound of paper tearing. "We are ordered to the binary system of Des, where we, as part of Task Force 30.1 will attack Des Alpha, the planet and city of Des. Navigation, make the appropriate calculations."

"Yes, sir," a young woman's voice replied.

"Available information is now being posted to appropriate download servers for your detailed planning. Good luck. Bridge out."

* * *

"Hey, Sarge!" Kathy Higginbotham waved at SFC Rowle as he moved through the landing craft. He stepped around some tools, "Yeah, Higginbotham?"

"These track pads, Sarge " she started, and he held up a hand. "Loose, and we can't tighten all of them without removing the tie-down chains. Am I right?" She nodded, "Do what you can. Once we're down, we'll try to set aside a couple hours to get them all squared away. Make sure your IR sensors are up to speed, we'll be doing an assault landing as close as we can to zero-dark-hundred (midnight) planetary local."

"Eh?"

"Enemy command structure has to get permission from political officers, who will most likely be home, snug in their little beds when we strike. The longer they snooze " he finished.

"Ah. Confusion to the French "

Corporal Rabat called from the turret, "I heard that!"

"We love you too, Frankie!" Kathy called.

"Tidy up this deck, Higginbotham," SFC Rowle commented, taking a look at the armor plates that were secured out of the way of the tracks. "Anything else?"

"My next step is the engine and fuel system. I got used to a diesel at Camp Kathy, this is a CNG beastie from Hyundai. I'll need to check my notes to be sure."

* * *

2LT Tranh was nervous, but he didn't let it show. That wasn't proper for an officer, even one that had charge of water treatment and supply. They had practiced water supply, filtering, and treatment from lakes and rivers, and each unit had an organic 5,000 liter supply trailer, the larger consumers such as the laundry and kitchen units had 20,000 liter tankers. No, for some strange reason he was nervous about connecting to the target city's water and sewer supply. Irrational, he knew. An engineer unit would connect adapter trailers for data, power, water and sewer - all he had to do was connect pipes and hoses, but still, he worried. Perhaps because this was for real - they were scheduled for insertion at H + 6:00, when there might still be combat

* * *

Dr. Hernandez was nervous, but didn't let it show. He was the medical commander of the _Tomoko Abe_, a five megaton Aid class SAR/Hospital ship. Their part in the upcoming operation was initial support of the Imperial Marines as they took the various ships and stations, and then moving into near planetary orbit as the ground assault went in. Yes, they had trained, but now it was for real

* * *

VADM 'Jack' Halster was nervous, but didn't let it show. He was the admiral in charge of Thirtieth Fleet, and its three component task forces: TF 30.0 (the fleet command ships, supply vessels, hospital and construction ships, the fleet reserve ships and their screening destroyers and cruisers), TF 30.1 (the ships charged with the attack on Des Alpha), and TF 30.2 (the ships charged with the attack on the Beta component of the binary system). While he knew mistakes would be made, and he would lose personnel and ships in this, the first major attack by Imperial Terra, he could only hope none of them were disastrous.

Warning, slave abuse

Friday, October 24, 2003: 11:52 (relative)  
Ewan, City of Ewan, Government complex:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Hello, my friend!" one master said as he unlocked the front panel on the slave's belt. She whimpered and wiggled a bit, and he thrust into her. As was typical for slaves in this area, she was a red-collar girl, heavily secured. She yelped and screamed into her gag, locked into a spherical steel mask. He paid her no mind, she was a slave, after all.

The slave 198a2 screamed as her latest use-master penetrated her. She had been put out initially in a (presumed) civilian area, now, for some reason, she was in a Planetary Guard facility. She twitched and moaned, but returned to listening to the conversation.

" the attacks on the checkpoints," one was saying. "I do not understand it. For centuries, the slaves have taken what we have given them in our generosity, but now, they feel the need to fight us. We are kind and generous masters! I know I do not need to beat my slaves often."

"It is good to remind them of their collars," the slave's use-master agreed. "These attacks, there is no reason for it. We have only one survivor of the last ten attacks, and we were indeed fortunate there. His male parts were cut off, and the only reason he did not bleed to death was the early arrival of his relief. As it is, he will be in the healers' care for a long time."

"And the art (she could hear his air quotes) these rebels leave?"

"A line drawing of a slave's chin and throat in black on a wall, with two lines of red dots." He thrust even harder, and the slave gave a muffled shriek of pain. "Like these two slaves. We believe they are, incredibly enough, red-collar slaves who have somehow acquired manufactured arms - not just crude, home-made knives, or things stolen from their owners. There are small cylinders left behind, and surgical investigation reveals the cause of death is penetration by small metal objects that expand once inside the body. The belief is system shock and the damage or destruction of internal organs causes death. These are being called the Red Collar murders, unofficially. For the public, there is nothing happening. The drawings are painted over by Guardsmen who discover this horrible crime, the bodies are quickly loaded in a truck, and the small metal cylinders are swept into the trash. The public will see nothing and learn of nothing."

"Well, we know these two will not be leaving to inform their sisters," he joked, and his slave screamed into her gag. "Is there anything taken?"

"We are not certain. Some is thrown into the checkpoint's barrel-fire while others have not been missing weapons. There has been theft of money and identification, we are watching for these missing documents. It seems to be a plan by someone to kill the Guard, but who? We are loved and trusted by the citizens!"

"Truth," his companion said, finishing up. "I am off to mid-meal, and you?"

"A working meeting. This has some in management concerned."

"Better you than I, my friend. You will solve it and punish the guilty."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Monday, October 25, 2003: 04:00 (ACST:UTC +9:30)  
Terra, Northern Territory, Camp Katherine:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

There was the loud noise of a steel trash can being thrown on concrete, and Carrie Zorbis jerked awake. "Good morning ladies, and welcome to the Imperial Army and Camp Katherine. I am Sergeant Callahan, your Drill Instructor. You are all part of Training Company 712, and I will be instructing you on both military life and the Infantry. Now get OUT of your bunks and stand at attention, toes on the green line!"

Blinking fuzzily, Carrie scrambled out of the bunk she didn't remember getting into, and stood, bare toes on a green painted line two feet outside the line of bunks. Down the center of the room were two inset steel rails. She stood straight, brushing her hair back as a muscular blonde with close-cut hair strolled down the line of young women, a 'smokey' hat on her head, a white crop about two feet long in her hands behind her. Looking around, Carrie took in the slowly turning ceiling fans, the high, open windows, and the concrete-block partition to her left. She felt the crop on her cheek, and Sgt. Callahan asked pleasantly, "Did I say you could look around?"

"You didn't say we couldn't. Um, Sarge," she belatedly added.

"No. No I didn't." Sgt. Callahan released her cheek, then strolled up the center, between the rails. "In case you didn't notice, all of you are female. While we normally run mixed training companies, this one is all female. There are various reasons for that, one of which is some of you are here by court order as an alternative to jail time." She strolled up and down the center aisle as the recruits looked around. "No, I'm not saying who. While the Empire and the Army is still new, we do have a few traditions, one of which is you don't talk about your past unless you want to." She stopped and turned slowly, repeating, "You don't talk about your past unless you want to. Is that understood?"

"Um, like the French?" one girl asked.

"In some respects, like the French Foreign Legion," Sgt. Callahan agreed. "However, I didn't say you could ask questions. This is the Army, girl, you will drop and give me twenty. NOW!" The girl blinked, then dropped and started to do pushups. Sgt. Callahan strolled over and used her boot on the girl's shoulder. "ALL the way down, McMann, and ALL the way up. Squash those pretty tits on the concrete. That's right." She turned, "All recruits are run through the med-tanks to bring you up to full physical health, and some of you have also chosen bio-sculpt as part of your second chance. That also means that if you decide to slip back into old habits such as fighting, insubordination, drugs, theft and so forth, you are now subject to the Code of Military Justice." She paused, looked around, then said, "Ladies, if you thought a civilian prison was tough, you do not want to experience a MILITARY prison. There is also the minor fact that the Terran Empire is in a legal state of war. As such, crimes that would have rated prison now rate the death penalty. That means that if you are charged and convicted, with a guilty verdict, you will be handcuffed to a post and shot by a firing squad. There's one on the parade ground. I'll point it out on the run to breakfast."

She let that sink in. "Second point. I mentioned the med-tanks. Everyone goes through them, everyone is upgraded to a physical peak, part of my job is to keep you at that peak. That means various addictions, to sugar, or cigarettes, or cocaine, are now gone. You will eat healthy, you will exercise, and your past is just that, the past. This is your chance for a fresh start." She slapped her stick in her palm. "Third point. When I ask you a question, there are three permissible answers: 'Yes, Sergeant Callahan', 'No, Sergeant Callahan', and 'I don't understand, Sergeant Callahan'. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sergeant Callahan!"

"I didn't hear you "

"YES, SERGEANT CALLAHAN!"

She scrubbed at her ear. "What? Speak up, I didn't hear you."

"_**YES, SERGEANT CALLAHAN**_!"

That evening, the company gathered round as Sgt. Callahan took a seat on a footlocker. She carefully took off her hat and placed it on the concrete floor. "Now, ladies. Question time." She looked around, "Zorbis."

* * *

"Yes, Sergeant Callahan. What's with the food? I was told there were Army-wide competitions for good food. This looked like something out of the toilet. All those spices on the table "

"Couldn't keep it from looking like shit and tasting like piss. I know. I eat the same as you do, just in a different mess. I know the Camp Katherine's mess ranked third last quarter in the Army-wide competition, and even for mess hall chow, it looked and tasted fuckin' good. Now, I don't know what the hell is going on. We got some new officers in, part of that expansion, couple of them Supply types. Logistics officers. That's one big reason we're going to spend as much time out in the field as possible." She grinned. "Camp Kathy is in the Outback. Lots and lots of feral bush meat hoppin' around out there, and as far as those spices go " She grinned. "Armies been livin' off the land for centuries. I'll show you what to do with some fresh-shot rabbit."

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Tuesday, October 28, 2003: 10:27 (relative)  
Ewan, City of Ewan:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

The location was well chosen. One of the major traffic intersections of the city, and thus one of the Guard's major checkpoints, it was also a bottleneck as vehicle and pedestrians were searched for the Red Collar 'terrorists'. Slaves, and especially red collared slaves, were confiscated from their owners and given intensive 'questioning' by the Guard. The screams of pain could be clearly heard.

However, the Guard had not learned from previous attacks, relying on their reputation for brutality. There was still an hour and a half before the shift change, and a normal duty roster of three hands (15). Another hand were the 'interrogators', who concentrated on the large improvised 'cage' where the confiscated slaves were held.

The bored Guard waved the four large trucks into a parking area. He had no reason to be suspicious, they were properly marked with Guard insignia. He turned away as the driver-slaves dismounted, one holding a clipboard and wearing the neck-ring of a Third Girl above her collar. She distracted the sub-officer who read over her clipboard while the driver-slaves walked back, dropping the tail-gates of the trucks with a bang. He turned back to his duty, two slaves were chained to a light cargo-carrier, which was blocked in the vehicle lane. "Stupid slaves! Move this over there for inspection!" He grinned to himself, both slaves were red collared, this was more than enough reason for him to confiscate both the slaves and their cargo, which he could resell (whatever it was). He watched the slaves grunt into their gags as they slowly got their carrier moving again. He never heard the 'pop' of the MP-5 as it was fired into his head, he never saw the two slaves remove the chains that bound them to their cargo-carrier. He never saw one of the slaves turn a hidden key that started a detonator and run; he was dead before the cargo-carrier exploded, destroying the checkpoint.

Third Girl 2126 smiled to herself as the rescued slaves were loaded into the trucks, along with material stolen from the Guard. Some of her girls went down the line of bound Guardsmen, executing them with single shots to the back of their heads. She nodded in approval as the first truck with the rescued slaves roared off, while a few girls burned documents.

* * *

Mistress T'asa slapped the conference table. "Commander! What are you doing about these Red Collar slaves?"

The commander of the Planetary Guard swallowed. T'asa might be a female, but she did not hesitate to shed the blood of her inferiors. "We have captured one, we shall be questioning her most rigorously." This was a lie, they had not captured ANY of the Red Collar slaves, the one he mentioned was a red collar girl from the pleasure rooms. One slave was like another - they were all disposable. For a brief second he felt a bit of pity for the girl; but his political position was far more important than her life. "In addition, we need to have a show of force to reassure the citizens. We will assemble all the slaves we control, move them all to red collars, hood and mask them and parade them as captured along with the Guard. This will reassure the citizens that the Guard has things under control, and they need not worry about the rebellious Red Collar slaves."

Mistress T'asa grunted. "In other words, you haven't made any progress. Do you at least have an idea as to why they are suddenly rebelling?"

The commander shrugged, "Occasionally the rabble get ideas above their station. A convincing show of force will demonstrate the penalties for that, as well as reassure our supporters that their investments are secure." He glanced down the table at the head of Correct Thought. "Have you detected anything with your spies?"

"Among the lower classes and the slaves? Nothing more than the usual complaints," the spy known as 'Lord Chichester' to the rabble replied. He was cloaked and did not show his face, indeed, he could have been a slim, tall female for what he showed, even here. "Will you be using some of the grav or hover tanks you have in inventory?"

"I plan to."

"Good," 'Lord Chichester' said. "I want to see this captured slave."

"I thought it might be required." Mistress T'asa looked at the guards stationed inside the door. "Bring the slave in."

The slave was carried in, heavily secured. She was forced to stand, swaying as she fought to keep her balance. This was difficult, not only were her ankles shackled together, but she was wearing hobbles that forced her to stand and walk on her toes. Her arms were bound behind her, a metal bar securing her arms together above and below her elbows and at her wrists. Her hands were secured inside a steel sphere, the canvas of a slave hood could be seen below the sphere of a matching steel mask on her head. The track of a slave leash was included in the steel mask, the only openings were two small holes that allowed her to breathe, and a plugged hole for a feeding tube. The bells attached to the nipples on her large breasts, wrist and ankle shackles rang as she struggled to stand. Her knee-length dark hair and the 'tail' attached to her slave belt swayed with her motion.

"Stand straight and still, slave! You are inspected," one of the guards said as he secured her leash to a ring. The slave raised her head and tried, although there were still tremors as she fought for balance.

"So this is one of the rebellious slaves, their leader," Mistress T'asa said as she walked around the slave, inspecting her. "A common slave," and with a small kick, the slave was knocked off her feet, landing on her side with a muffled 'Oomph'. She rolled over, supported by her bound arms, and looked toward Mistress T'asa. "You will include this slave in a prominent place in the parade, and she will die slowly, in great pain and in public, as a warning to the rabble and the slaves. When is this parade scheduled?" The slave tried to struggle to her feet with a whimper, and Mistress T'asa kicked her over, putting her foot on the slave's chest.

"In three to five days. It requires that long to adjust the required number of slaves' collars and secure them as this slave is," the Commander replied.

"Good. So ordered, but do not use the pain circuits in her collar, or visible damage. I want the slave to last a long time as a lesson in punishment, but be in salable condition until she finally dies. That means daily food, water, and suction."

"It will be done," the Commander replied, and Mistress T'asa moved back to the head of the table. "Moving on, we will need to increase tax collections "

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, October 29, 2003: 06:29 (UTC)  
Terra, Hogwarts, Faculty lounge:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"I'm bored."

Minerva looked down the table at Bella. The younger witch was leaning forward on the table, her curly black hair spread across the battered wood, her chin supported by her two fists. "I don't miss the insanity, but I do miss the action. I felt so alive, then." She sighed. "Severus hasn't even frightened the firsties enough to send them to me, and there hasn't been a good hexing between the Slythies and the Gryffs in days!"

Harry Potter chuckled, "Bella, I have a proposal for you. I have fourth years this afternoon at 15:00. We just started discussing fighting styles, would you like to take the class?"

Bella cocked her head, "What would I need to do?"

"There are different styles of fighting, and I've reserved the Room of Requirement. You can hand out the blue practice wands, they can cast with those. Even if you use an Unforgivable, all you'll get is a colored light with those. I've got a Ministry license for that. Winner of the practice match are the ones with fewest colored dots on themselves. I usually award Weasley gift certificates."

"Sounds like fun, but where will you be?"

"I've been trying to have a business meeting with Amos Diggory, but the scheduling hasn't worked out. It's a nice, large Imperial contract that we're trying to win on vehicle armour."

Bella sat back, snagging her mug of tea on the way. "Diggory is ceramics. Plates, cups and so forth. That's not armour."

"That's what I thought, but apparently muggle ceramics can be used for it. We're looking into it because we can enchant protective runes and wards into the armour plates, and various spells and potions can be used to make better armour and for less money." Potter took a sip from his tea, "I'm providing the capital for an expansion, profit all around."

"I'll do it, but I want the investment information for Andi as well. She's a better money manager than Sirius is." Harry slid a scroll across the table, "I'll get that investment information for you."

* * *

Stephanie Keyes panted a bit as she ran into the seventh-floor Room of Requirement. It was quite a run from the first-floor (US: second floor) DADA classroom up the six flights of stairs, but she arrived, dropping her bag with the others.

"So, everyone here? Anyone who's not, sing out!" Ms. Black said as she looked around the class. "Bloody good," she said, tossing the attendance scroll (unmarked) over her shoulder. "Potter said you lot were starting to learn to fight," and she grinned. "Fighting is different than a duel. A duel is very formalized, bowing and larking about until you part the other bloke's hair. You want to duel, go see Flitwick. A fight (she emphasized) is taking the other sod out of commission. Dead or not. The Yank general Patton said it best: '_You're not to die for your country. You make the other poor bastard die for his_.'" She bounced on her toes, then spun, the side-slits in her long skirt flaring as she stalked to the side. The five-inch heels on her boots clip-clopped as she strode over to a pair of boxes.

"Right-o, you lot. Your wands ALL your wands go in the one box, take at least two blue practice wands from the other. I'll show you a few different styles of fighting, and that includes using the 'Unforgivables' (she finger-quoted). The reason is that they are only unforgiven in England. Not in Wales, Ireland, or Scotland, and certainly not in the rest of the world. However, since we are partially funded by the Ministry in London, we'll follow their rules. These wands will shoot colored light, leave a dot on your clothes, and you'll feel a stinging hex." She frowned, and lifted a blue wand, "Like this: '_Crucio_!'" A sickly yellow bolt of light came out of the wand, impacting on a gossiping student, who yelped.

"Leads to another thing: what's known as Situational Awareness, or as Moody shouts, 'Constant Vigilance!' She had plenty of time to raise a shield." She looked around the class. "Everyone's particular style, and you will develop your own unique blend of techniques, is what works best for you. My own has been described as 'barking mad' because I became known for it in my youth, when I was a different person."

"Excuse me, but who ?"

"Ah. Who remembers the late, unlamented Dark Lord?" Several hands rose. "And who can name some of his Death Eaters?"

"Um Pettigrew, and Black, and Malfoy, and Lestrange, and um "

"Close enough, although there were three Lestranges, and only one Black was a Death Eater." She grinned, then gave a maniacal laugh, using a baby-talk tone of voice, "Oh, you little ickle kiddies! You don't know me!" and she laughed again. "You disable your opponents, kiddies! I gave my husband Rodolphus a permanent castration hex on our wedding night! He wasn't going to give ME a baby bump! BwaHAHAHA!"

"You're bloody insane!" one Gryffindor whispered. "I'll hold her off, you run and get help."

"You think you can take me, ickle one? Who do you think you are? Dumbledore? Potter? Granger? Do you know who you're up against?" She cackled again. "Recognize my name? Bellatrix; Bellatrix LESTRANGE?" She went into a semi-crouch, and crooked her finger, "I've warded the door. Let's dance... "

The Gryffie raised his (regular) wand, licking his lips, "_E... Expelliarmus_! _Stupify_!"

Bella simply took a half-step to the side and flicked her wand. The student spun and landed heavily, while Bella stood, her temporary insanity gone. She smiled, "That's mine. I play mind games with my opponents, as I have such an insane reputation that I make use of it. Now, let me go over some of the different styles of fighting." She waved a hand, and an image of Albus Dumbledore appeared. This appeared to be a memory of his fight in the Ministry Atrium, as the partially destroyed statue of Magical Brethren could be seen. It was an awe-inspiring view as he spun, dodged, and levitated objects in silence. Ms. Black let them watch for a few seconds, then froze it. "Notice that he stays within a certain patch, only moving a few feet to one side or another. This was not simply this fight, but he does it as part of his style. He's an old man and wants to conserve energy, but he's also a Transfiguration Master. Notice how he has an orbiting halo of transfigured birds that he uses to intercept spells. You can categorize Dumbledore as a 'plonk', in that he doesn't move around much, and as that Transfiguration Master. McGonagall is also a Transfiguration Master, except she moves around and uses her Animagus form."

She waved her hand, "Here's Harry in one of the battles in Hogsmeade. Notice that he's got gobs of power, his Thaum index is way up there, his power is par with Dumbledore and the Dark Lord. He also orbits objects, although his is a mix of conjured ping-pong balls and small debris." They watched the scene as the fight raged, one person said quietly, "You're in there, with the Death Eaters."

"Yes, I was. I had a 'kill on sight' order on me, and was directly under the Dark Lord's Imperius curse for long enough to ruin my reputation and drive me insane. At that point, he semi-trusted me, and released me from the curse." She tapped her left arm below the elbow, "The Dark Mark does several things. It is a protean charm originally designed to keep captives and slaves from straying from their owners, who can torture or kill the slave through it. It also serves as a leech, drawing off the slaves' life energy and magic to support the owner. Lastly, it can be used to summon the slaves, either individually or as a group. It is very old, very dark magic." She crossed her arms, "Didn't you ever wonder why the Death Eaters, who were subject to the Cruciatus and the AK on the Dark Lord's whim, didn't kill him? There were always a few pure-blooded Gryffindors who he would make examples of, but most of us were Slytherin."

"If you tried to kill him, and failed... " one Slytherin student nodded.

"Or if we succeeded, we'd be dead either way. The Dark Lord was also a master Occlumens, he routinely scanned his followers' surface thoughts. Anything he thought of as 'treason' to him (she finger-quoted) was immediately dealt with. Terminally. He would kill on the vaguest hint of suspicion." She smiled grimly. "There were several of us that had sufficient power and skill to kill him, but we had to wait, for a good opportunity to arise or be created, for a solution to the Dark Mark, and for Potter to fulfill the prophecy that he alone could kill the Dark Lord. I have a few hidey-holes set up around the world, as did most of us. However, I managed to have my name cleared, and that is a story for another time." She gestured, "Notice how Harry moves around. He's what I would call an Athlete, he doesn't defend a single patch of ground like Dumbledore. He also uses short-range Apparition, one reason you erect anti-movement wards when you go into a fight. However, the Potter clan has always been good with wards, he has a habit of dropping yours and erecting his own during a fight. Because of his Quidditch training, he also thinks three-dimensionally, so he will Apparate to other levels. The best way to fight Harry is to let another sot have the honour; you pick someone else. I've fought him when he was untrained, and he was a handful even then. Now that he is a Defense Master and an ICW(13) licensed Hit Wizard " she raised her hands, "No, thank you."

"The next two are opposites of each other in some ways. The first is the Dark Lord himself," and she gestured. Dumbledore's image expanded to include the Ministry's Atrium. There was a gasp of horror as he appeared: tall, nose-less, with red slitted eyes, pale, scaly skin in expensive robes. "The Dark Lord killed and tortured on a whim, but he was sufficiently powerful, both through his own rituals and by using the leech function on the Dark Mark to stand up to Dumbledore. You'll notice that he also stays in one place, that he only uses a few dark hexes and curses, including the AK, and that he uses silent, wandless casting and he spell-chains. Against Dumbledore, this works, because Dumbledore as a matter of principle will not throw a spell stronger than a stunner."

"What?"

"Yes, you throw a cutting curse, a disemboweling hex, anything the least bit nasty, and he'll simply avoid it. He'll probably tell you he's disappointed in you, because he also uses psychology. He uses his 'wise old grandfather' persona. Notice that Dumbledore is still wearing immaculate robes and doesn't have a speck of dust, not to mention blood on him. He's good, but he's the very image of a Light Wizard. He doesn't get his hands dirty; he uses cats-paws for his dirty work."

She changed the scene, "I mentioned Granger. She has a reputation as a bloody genius, and it's well deserved. Here she is at Hogsmeade fighting to defend some students against the Dark Lord. Notice that she manages to identify and counter every one of the hexes and curses he throws until the students can be evacuated. As the Dark Lord is a silent, wandless caster, he's not shouting the name of the curse, she's identifying them by his hands' movement and the color of the curse light." She shook her head in admiration. "She's bloody good, but she's gotten clipped by a few, until she's reinforced by Potter and his future wife, Ginny Weasley. At that point, the Dark Lord retreats." She clapped her hands, "I could go on, as I said everyone has a unique fighting style." She snapped her fingers, and the Room of Requirement changed to Hogsmeade, complete with students. "I want everyone to change out their wands, and Gryffindors and Slytherins will defend the town, the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs will attack for the glory of the Dark Lady Trixie." She curtsied.

"Trixie?"

"Of course, you think I'm going to use Bellatrix? Minion?" She waved, "Over there with my other minions, and try to think outside your house stereotypes, everyone?" She clapped, "Let's get to it, people, or I'll assign a nice, long essay!" She cackled evilly.

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Wednesday, October 29, 2003: 15:06 (UTC)  
Terra, London, Imperial Building:  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Amos! Glad you could make it!"

"Yes, sorry I'm late, there was a bit of kerfuffle clearing security downstairs." Amos Diggory enlarged his case of samples, as well as his various papers, and took a seat. Mr. Pease, the Imperial agent looked down his nose at the rumpled wizard, who hadn't bothered to change out of his work robes. Mr. Potter, on the other hand, while young, was conservatively dressed in a business suit. "Now then, we were to discuss ceramic armour?"

"Yes," Harry said. "I've done a bit of research, and the current Imperial armoured vehicles have steel or aluminum hulls with electrical fittings, but this can be improved." He placed a sample on the polished tabletop. "This is a six-inch (15 cm) hexagon. A series of these, and of triangular units as well, should be able to cover most, if not all of the different vehicles. There are several layers here. On the bottom, a thin rubber mat."

"Why thin?" Mr. Pease asked. "This is armour. We want it to be thick."

"That worked with steel armour in the Second World War, Mr. Pease. Now, with the advances in various sciences, you can save weight and cost by using different alloys and materials. The rubber layer protects the surface of the hull from damage and is an electrical insulator." He shot a glance at Amos, who tended towards Arthur Weasley's level of ignorance of the muggle world, and of 'electricity'. Amos, who had been about to ask a question, settled back. "The rubber is glued onto the aluminum frame, which is conductive. This allows both energy to power the warding runes, and the electrical shielding."

"Shielding?" Mr. Pease asked.

"From what I've seen of the various models, there is space in the engine compartment to install a small shield generator. It would require some rewiring of the contact points for both a live and an earthing, but we estimate it could be done at minimal cost with a series of jumper wires under the armour plates. Alternatively, since the contacts are a series of screw-in connectors, it could be done that way. This provides redundant protection for the vehicle and its crew."

"Which is the important thing. You have documentation on this?"

"Of course, and estimated costing. This could be done at the routine maintenance, where every five thousand kilometers one changes the motor oils."

"Indeed," Mr. Pease gave a small nod as he accepted a file folder. "Please continue."

"Between the ceramics and the aluminum is a one centimeter air space. This is the 'spaced armour' part of the kit, disrupting the plasma flow of certain types of weapons, and preventing its penetration of the interior crew compartment. Above that is one and a half centimeters of ceramic armour. As we are not licensed for the actual composition of Chobham armour, which is a MoD(14) secret, this remains a variable. We have tested it with high-hardness ceramics."

"Tested it how?"

Harry cleared his throat, "With various wizards throwing various types of penetration spells at it, and (he cleared his throat again) various black market weapons. I would appreciate your not pursuing this point, Mr. Pease."

Mr. Pease pursed his lips. "Indeed. I can see the requirements for testing. If successful, we shall see about issuing a secondary license for the appropriate materials. Please proceed."

"Yes. The last step are the protective runes. There are several types, and will vary based upon the materials used."

Mr. Pease held up a finger, "Please explain."

Amos spoke up. "Runes are symbols that can be used in a magical field for different things. They can be temporary or permanent, and the effects will vary based on the adjoining runes and the materials used." He used his wand to draw a symbol in the air. "This rune is for protection. It will have different strengths depending on its being carved in wood, concrete, or various types of stone. This is why we are looking for a license to produce the Chobham ceramics. The composition of the various mixes will affect the runes' output."

Harry put in, "Varying the percentages of, say, magnesium or copper will vary the strength of the runes. We can standardize the runes for protection, energy storage and such, even though some will need to be laser-etched, some molded in, and some painted, top or bottom, but those can be computer-controlled during production. Being able to control the ceramic mix instead of simply taking existing formulas and adding water will allow us to optimize the protections."

"I see. However, as has been observed, MoD considers the formula a state secret," Mr. Pease replied. "I understand this, but MoD would have their own requirements." He pursed his lips, thinking. "I see," he repeated. "I shall bring this to the attention of my contacts in MoD and see what they require. For now, assume we have the proper license and composition."

"After that, it's simply a matter of installing the machinery and fine-tuning the process," Harry replied. "That would be low-rate initial production and testing. Each vehicle will require a few hundred plates, but by standardizing them, they are field-replaceable, and each type can have a standard 'kit' of plates, cables, bolts and whatnot. Furthermore... "

***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***  
Friday, October 31, 2003: 23:48 (relative)  
Des, Orbit One (station):  
***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***-***

"Watch desk, watch officer sp "

"We're under attack! There are three " the signal cut off. The officer frowned, "Three ships? Three hands? Three hundred?" He turned to the communication slave, "Get them back!"

"This slave is attempting to do so, my master. They are not receiving."

"Keep trying."

"Yes, my master." He turned, ignoring the slave, and addressed the officer from Correct Thought. "Procedure is to alert the planetary offices."

"Indeed. However, we also have an order that in order to celebrate Mistress T'bani's victory, the civil offices are granted a holiday. I am almost certain that none will be in the offices, and it is more than my life is worth to allow you to contact them." He regarded the young officer, "Is this fragmentary message worth your life? It is not worth mine."

"Ah." The young officer stood, bouncing on his toes, then nodded once. "Slave, transcribe the message and forward it to the planetary defense office."

"Yes, my master. Priority?"

"Must I repeat an order, slave? Transcribe the message."

"Yes, my master."

* * *

(1): RoE: Rules of Engagement: directives to military forces that define the circumstances in which force may be applied.  
(2): ICC: Interstellar Commercial Code. The closest there is to interstellar law.  
(3): IED: Improvised Explosive Device.  
(4): RPG: Rocket Propelled Grenade.  
(5): DIY: Do It Yourself.  
(6): JAG: Judge Advocate General. The military legal system.  
(7): Shadow Cabinet: Political opposition ready to form a government if the elected one falls.  
(8): Thames House: Headquarters of the Security Service (aka: MI-5).  
(9): Vauxhall Cross: Headquarters of the Secret Intelligence Service (aka: MI-6)  
(10): Coin girl: A slave sent out to wander the street and solicit sexual use. If her users are satisfied, they will put a coin in a box locked on her. She is scored on the cash in the box.  
(11): JD: Juris Doctor: a law degree.  
(12): UCMJ: Uniform Code of Military Justice.  
(13): ICW: International Confederation of Wizards.  
(14): MoD: The British Ministry of Defense.

~30~


End file.
